


paint ペイント

by here_comes_the_son



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst with a Bad Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Anxious Reader, Autism Spectrum, Awkward Crush, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bitter Raphael, Canonical Character Death, Crack and Angst, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crushes, Dark Crack, Developing Friendships, Discrimination, Doctor Donatello (TMNT), Don't Like Don't Read, Donatello (TMNT) Needs a Hug, Donatello is exhuasted, Dorks in Love, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Friendship/Love, Good Parent Splinter (TMNT), Help, How Do I Tag, Hurt Leonardo (TMNT), I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Know It Sounds Insane, I Made Myself Cry, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I wish I was joking, I'm Going Somewhere With This I Swear, Idiots in Love, Imagine It Taking A Bite Out Of Your Damn Calf, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Leonardo (TMNT) is a Dork, Leonardo's Depressed And Reader's Anxious, Michelangelo Lowkey Evil, Mikey's just vibin, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Multi, Mutant Rights, Mutants, Mutual Pining, My First AO3 Post, Near Death Experiences, Not Beta Read, Older Sibling Leonardo (TMNT), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Villian, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Other, Paint is something thats... alive, Please Don't Hate Me, Please Don't Kill Me, Please Kill Me, Please be gentle, Protective Leonardo (TMNT), Protective Older Brothers, Protective Raphael (TMNT), READER CRAVES DEATH, Raphael Has A Buff Girlfriend, Raphael Is A Thirsty Hoe, Raphael is a Little Shit, Raphael is just chilling with his cat while everyone runs around screaming, Raphael is tired as well, Reader is always nauseous, Reader thinks shes crazy, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scientist Donatello (TMNT), Shyness, Sorry Not Sorry, Stick Figure's, Strong Female Characters, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, These Bastard's Are Like Two Feet Tall, They're Co-Parenting The Cat, They're all messes, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is STUPID, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, but bear with me, but we don't talk about that, im a sucker for fluff tbh, im sorry, leo loves soup, original characters are loveable thots, paint creatures, she's great, stick figures, that'll come to life and eat you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 78,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/here_comes_the_son/pseuds/here_comes_the_son
Summary: To your limited knowledge, something is going on in the midst of New York City. From the Bronx, all the way down to Brooklyn, creatures are emerging from the woodworks to ease their claws into the lives of every inhabitant. From a sous chef who dreams of refining her artistic skills, an androgynous woman with a dark past and a violent soul, to a once lively mutant teenager who's grief has morphed him into a shell of his former self.Together, with the help of their friends, family members, wary allies, and begrudging enemies- the truth will be revealed.No matter what the cost..... who knew that it all started with a bit of paint?
Relationships: Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT), Donatello (TMNT) & Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s), Leonardo & Mr. Murakami (TMNT), Leonardo & Splinter (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT) & Reader, Leonardo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT) & Reader, Raphael (TMNT) & Reader, Raphael (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s), Reader & Mr. Murakami, Reader & Other(s)
Comments: 91
Kudos: 59





	1. nothing to see here, folks! everything is fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stared at it. 
> 
> This was ... unreal. A stick figure, coming to life, hissing at you like an angry pigeon.
> 
> Did pigeons hiss? You couldn't even recall; you were just frozen, in utter shock. 
> 
> ... were you high?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! my name is brianna and for eight years i was a wattpad writer that went by the name of TheScaryFangirl. I hope you enjoy my take on the TMNT 2012 universe. Enjoy reading!

You had woken up that day dreading to take out the trash.

It was Friday, that absolutely _dreaded_ day of the week. Which, while many celebrated it as the last release before the excitement of a two day weekend, was only miserable for you. It was the busiest day in Murakami's Japanese restaurant, with all the drunk college frat boys stumbling into the little hole in the wall to attempt to harass the only three employees, and the blind owner slash cook. They always made a mess, somehow figuring out how to completely break down the token driven vending machine, absolutely demolishing the bathrooms, and somehow leaving drunker than before... if, that was even possible. You were _convinced_ that it had to do with those 'water bottles' they carried, which you were sure were usually just filled to the brim with vodka.

That wasn't the _only_ reason that you dreaded going to work. Every Friday was also the day where the garbage had reached _unfathomable_ levels of toxicity and needed to be thrown into the dumpster for the workers to take it away the next morning. How was it that the small portion of the human race that came to their restaurant constantly seemed to make the biggest, most disgusting mess possible?

Black trash bags would pile up by the pounds against the back door, so much so that it would eventually become a safety concern and an entire health violation if you thought about it for too long. You were certain that some sort of mutant would sprout from the bags and squeak a pleasant _hello~_ towards your horrified face... And yet, that wouldn't even be the _strangest_ thing you had seen happen during your almost two years living in Manhattan. You weren't lying when you talked about how you had once seen a grown man with a glorious beard dressed as a nun take on somebody dressed in a Elmo costume who looked as if he were on cocaine. Only in Times Square at eleven at night did something like that happen- and it hadn't even been Halloween! It was times like those that you had fallen in love with the chaotic energy of New York City.

Now though, as you stood slightly slouched over, your lower back pressed against the beige wall lined up with awards and old pictures of simpler times, you glared with a burning ferocity at the trash bags. The trash bags that always seemed to come up with new scents that would send you to the bathroom to heave up the few crackers you had eaten for dinner. Those black plastic trash voids that oozed and dripped with weird discoloration of sludge that made the bags stick to the ground when you dragged them through the back door, leaving behind horrible slime trails in its path. Only once before in your life had you accomplished a feat of strength, and that was when you had jumped up from your chair to do one pull up in P.E. at seven years old. You had been extremely proud of that loophole, and it was one of your most cherished memories, depressingly enough. That made this attempt of physical strength even the more difficult, in the end.

At this moment, glaring at the trash as if it had insulted your entire family, you were finally snapped out of the inner roasting that you had directed to the garbage- by being unceremoniously slapped in the face with a pair of neon latex gloves. You sighed loudly, closing your eyes to collect herself before you, to put it in modern terms, cut a hoe. Bending over and snatching up the pair of yellow gloves with more pent up rage than usual, you straightened to meet the grin of your friend, no other than Sukiyaki Ashika, the object of your pain.

The young adult of Japanese and Pakistani descent leaned in the doorway that led to the kitchen, dark arms crossed over her flat chest, that same cheeky grin that she used against those teenage delivery boys plastered across her Asian based features. It was a weapon, paired with her psychedelic slanted red brown eyes, the sort you see on vampire men in those terrible low budget movies. These weren't any different. They were real, and they were lovely.

"Make sure you put on those gloves." The teenager reminded you, with her ebony black quiff that seemed to move like a plate of jello full of emotion. It was comical, and you wanted to stab it.

"Yeah- I remember when you didn't wear them that _one_ time." You snorted with a lopsided smile as you slid them both on, the latex snapping loudly against your skin as you raised your eyebrows. "How's your hands by the way?" You questioned, a grin growing across your face.

Yaki made a noise of annoyance as she looked over at the hallway between the kitchen and the main restaurant area, sniffing in distaste. "It's not _my_ fault that the stuff in there stained my hands _yellow_." She grumbled, looking down at her hands with its splotches of light neon yellow blemished along her brown palms.

"It's literally toxic." You noted, as you wrapped your hands around the tied knots of the black garbage bags, inhaling deeply as you attempted to lift them up. All that was obtained from that movement was a sore back and almost dislocating your wrists.

Yaki guffawed loudly, a grin growing on her lips as she curled a finger around a strand of her hair to play with it. "Aw, babaaa." Cooed the female, tilting her head to press against the doorway.

"Don't 'aw baba me." You grumbled like the annoyed teenager you were, glaring at the bags filled with garbage that resembled you, kicking at the receptacle. "You're just enjoying this." You huffed as you dropped the bags, placing your gloved hands on your hips as you shot the bags another dirty look.

Yaki gave a half shrug coupled with her signature smile as she continued to watch in amusement at the train wreck starting before her. "Put your _back_ into it!" She called as you began to slowly roll each large trash bag across the linoleum floor and through the backdoor. You only managed to shoot Yaki a death filled scowl as you piled all the bags around the outside. You pulled one of the bags holding the backdoor open, allowing the heavy wooden door to fall shut against its doorway.

You listened for a moment as Yaki faintly sang All Star to herself through the closed door, as you began the long process of figuring out how _exactly_ you were going to drag each humongous bag into the six feet tall dumpster bin. Your arms already shook with the effort, your tendons stretched out against your skin, as you tried your best not to fall over.

After much swearing, prayers to God, and a bit of frustrated tears being shed, you managed to drag a bag into the dumpster. Placing each on the edge and shoving them all inside with a loud grunt. You were definitely going to blackmail Yaki into buying you some ice cream after your shift was finished- after all, it was the most your roommate could do to soften your pain.

"This is _supposed_ to be your job." You grumbled to no one in particular as you dragged the last trash bag towards the dumpster bin, directing your frustration towards an imaginary Yaki.

Something squeaked back in response.

Your head swiveled around, your hands still gripping the trash bag as it teetered on the edge of the dumpster, your eyes wide, shoulders aching and nostrils flaring. The rats in New York City were as large as an alley cat, and you were not prepared to catch the bubonic plague from one of those bastards.

Your eyes scanned the dark narrow alleyway, listening closely to hundreds of flashing cars zooming by on nearby streets, their horns blaring in the distance. Nothing. Your knuckles were white as you held onto the trash bag for dear life turning towards the giant receptacle, finally releasing as it hit against the bottom of the bin with a loud thud.

Another squeak echoed in the alley as you brought your hands abruptly to your chest, your eyes falling towards a pile of trash bags against the opposite wall. Your heart danced an Irish jig against your chest as you slowly reached for the rickety broom that was propped against the nearest wall. You were ready to slap any demon rat that came anywhere near you.

You gripped the plastic broom tightly with both hands, watching closely as one of the trash bags began to vibrate. Yes, _vibrate_ ; as if it were a ringing phone laid against a glass tabletop. You swallowed harshly, tiptoeing with small delicate steps towards the bag.

' _I'd rather it be a mutant than a freaking rat,-_ ' you hoped for a quiet moment in your mind. At least mutants didn't try to bite... _Right_?

A gasp ripped from your mouth as a circular white face popped out from a chewed up hole through the material of the plastic trash bag, with a rat-like squeak, the sound that you had been hearing all along. It had a 2-D face with two white stick arms stabbing into the bag as it wiggled out its beanpole of a body from the hole inside the trash bag. A drawn stick figure, about the size of your arm, jumping out to perch itself onto the black bulging trash bag. Staring at you. 

You didn't realize your mouth was hanging open until a fly rudely slapped against your top lip and ricocheted away. You spewed spit loudly, wiping your hand across your mouth as you stepped backwards. The sudden noise and movement terrified the stick figure, as it arched its back, on all four nubby sticks, hissing at you loudly, though it had no visible mouth. It only emitted it's noise that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.

You stared at it. This was... unreal. A stick figure, coming to life, hissing at you like an angry pigeon. Did pigeons even hiss? You couldn't recall, you were just frozen. In utter _shock_. 

...Were you high? It was those delivery boys probably. You had inhaled some second hand devils lettuce smoke and now you were high as _hell_ , imagining a two year old's drawing of a stick figure aggressively arching its back in and out at you as if it were performing some sort of mating dance, just for you.

The stick figure hissed once more and you finally noticed a hole appearing on his face, because of course you assumed it was a male-, and tiny paper like sharpened teeth baring at you.

Yeah, _no_.

You swiftly swung the head of the broom at the sentient stick figure, slapping the surprisingly light thing in the torso and sending it flying. A loud squeal escaped its empty mouth as it sailed across the alley wall and tumbled onto the sidewalk. It scrambled up to its feet, sickly yellow light from the street lamps throwing shadows against its flat white skin, hissing once more at you before scurrying off. The sound of its flat feet scratching lightly against the ground quickly faded away.

You stood there, silently hyperventilating as you stared at the place where, just moments before, a _living drawing_ had stood.

After two minutes, you had successfully convinced yourself that none of it had been real, or had even occurred. It was the toxic fumes from the garbage bags, they had corrupted your brain and had made you hallucinate for a few minutes- that was all. It was something psychological that you were sure could be explained through a quick google search. You _really_ had to make sure you wore a gas mask next time you took out the trash.

You spent a few spare moments poking the hole riddled trash bag with the end of your broom, before shaking off that nagging feeling irritating the back of your mind. Everything was a-okay, perfect, absolutely fine...

You cleared your throat, turning swiftly on the soles of your yellow stained white sneakers, twirling the broom lazily in your free hand, as if you were trying to mimic the movements of a stereotypical ninja. Your heart had calmed down from the mini panic attack it had had, as you wiped your shaking sweaty palms on your stained light blue jeans. Walking back towards the backdoor, a trembling hum resonating in your throat, dragging your shoes against the dirty concrete floor of the alleyway. Everything was just fine.

You heard the sound of feet hitting the ground behind you, slapping against the ground clumsily, a small grunt following it. So softly that you wouldn't have even noticed it if it hadn't been for the hand that suddenly clamped onto your shoulder.

A shrill shriek escaped your lips as you swung around the broom, spinning around to beat the person who had rudely grabbed you. This was New York City after all, it was almost midnight, and hadn't there been reports of mutants, gangs, and weird looking alien robots in this area as well? You were not the type of person to willingly go if you were kidnapped or, god forbid, harassed. Who could say they were, though?

Unfortunately, before your weapon of choice could loudly thwack against the face of your adversary, the broom was gripped tightly in a shaking bandaged three fingered hand.

You were face to face with a humanoid creature.

You were both breathing heavily. This thing, this mutant, was injured and heaving in rhythm with you. How _rude!_

In the dim yellow light emitted from the streets that dragged into the alleyway. He was red- no, he was green, covered in red. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that you were beginning to quietly hyperventilate at the pure shock of this _mes_ \- wait; was that an _asthma_ attack you felt coming on? You hadn't had one in _years_!

You both shared similar heights, that much you could tell by staring into his eyes. He appeared to be brawny in his physique, though you on the contrary seemed as breakable as a twig. A huge gash ran across his face as you, for the first time, noticed a blue mask around his neck that was soaked with blood. Torn up bandages swayed limply from his elbows, shoulders and hands, with a few knee pads barely holding on. His left shoulder easily leaking blood through a large open gash that didn't seem to relent with its flow. One of his eyes was purple and swollen, the other a piercing blue that seemed wrong belonging to a thing like him. Your eyes trailed to his back, oh hello there shell, where large multi colored gashes dripped down the arch of his carapace, contrasting against the boring brown color. The streaks seemed as if they were made out of... paint.

Your attention was snapped away as you looked up at the broom you were gripping, and his three fingered hand holding the opposite side of it as well. You let go suddenly and stumbled backwards, your arms outstretched into a t-pose as you stared at silence. Whattt was happening? What was this? _Why_ was this? _Why_? **_Why?!_**

A noise that sounded like a pigeon deep throating a piece of hot dog meat blurted from your lips as you pointed at his face. The thing. The turtle. The mutant. With eyes you had only seen before in cliche anime gif's that you would usually spam to your former nanny to confuse her.

He stood there, looking quite embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable, mimicking the exact expressions that you were experiencing too. He clutched the broom in one hand, his arm falling limply to the side as he simply let it clatter to the ground. His hands were shaking. His knees, his entire body seemed to be having a shaking fit. You realized it was probably the buckets of blood covering him, (hey-o! blood loss!), as you took a small step forward.

"Um..." You cleared your throat, embarrassingly loud as it echoed throughout the alley, trying to draw his attention. "My, my guy." You said, unsure of yourself as you scrunched up your face at the stupid words spilling out of you mouth that were _completely_ unwarranted. You held out one hand tentatively, eyebrows knitted in concern as you quickly licked your very dry, very salty lips. "Are you... good?"

The mutant hesitantly shrugged, his one working eye wide and shining in the sickly yellow light. "No." His hoarse voice squeezed out, barely a whisper as it echoed along the dense towering concrete walls of the alleyway. With that one word, he collapsed on himself, like a soda can being crushed between two hands.

You stared at the pile of blue, green, brown, beige, and red before you and inhaled deeply. You gazed upon your familiar surroundings, calm as ever, and clasped your gloved hands together. "God..." You declared quite loudly, as if you were confessing to the Lord himself. "I'm high." And with those cheerful words, still trying to convince yourself, you turned on the heels of your white sneakers, opened the heavy wooden backdoor, and walked back inside. Humming a loud tune, the door shut closed behind you, ringing throughout the alley, out into the empty street.

A squeak rang out from a black, hole riddled trash bag.

Everything was fine.


	2. well, would you look at that; a corpse... in the pantry...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Isi," began Yaki through a mouthful of rag. "Where's the bleach?" She mumbled as she chewed on the cloth.
> 
> "I drank it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About six people left kudos on here and two were from wattpad, (who are very popular on this site im slightly shook but not at all surprised)
> 
> if you've gotten this far, thank you for enjoying this piece of trash fic-
> 
> ok have fun reading!

"You _attacked_ him with a broom?"

"Correction; I _defended_ myself with a broom."

"A broom is not a reliable weapon, Y/n."

"How do _you_ know what a reliable weapon is, Yaki?"

Yaki looked up from violently shaking the vending machine from her crouched position in front of the dispenser, her scruffy eyebrows raised. You immediately wanted to bap her nose while simultaneously cowering in embarrassment. Funny how your friend's simple gaze made your emotions lay face down on the ground. "I literally have a knife in my shoe, baba." She smiled, turning her head as she swiftly thrust her entire arm up the dispenser, grunting as she shook it around violently. A rusted bucket of engraved tokens sat next to her bent knees as she pressed her cheek against the recently cleaned glass.

You narrowed your eyes down at Yaki, arms tightly crossed over your chest as you gripped your apron tightly in your right hand. "May I ask... why?" You asked, raising an eyebrow down at your friend.

"Reasons for which you are too innocent for." Yaki winked up at you, a cry of joy escaping her lips as she yanked her arm out, holding a dull bronze token in between her thumb and forefinger. "Got it!"

"That... Looks like a Chuck E Cheese doubloon." You sighed, letting your arms fall to your side as you turned your gaze up towards the ceiling, a frown etched onto your lips.

Yaki hummed, a small smile twitching across her lips. "Maybe it is." She stood up slowly with a grunt, scooping up the handle of the bucket as the tokens swished about, bronze clinking against the metal. She turned towards you, sighing softly as she bumped her fist against your cheek with a click of her tongue. "Don't be too hard on yourself, kid."

You turned towards Yaki with a look that could only be described as a kicked puppy gaze, twisting your apron back and forth between your hands. "I shouldn't have just left him there. Even if I had thought it... was, y'know, not. Real." You explained slowly, snapping your apron around your neck as you pulled the ends down on either side of your shoulders.

"Well, you did the right thing by getting me and Isi. You could barely throw a garbage bag into the dumpster." She tossed the bronze doubloon into the bucket, as it clinked softly with the rest of the tokens. "Did you really expect to drag an injured unconscious mutant back into the restaurant?" She chuckled, gently flicking your forehead.

You made a small 'I don't know' noise as you shrugged again, rocking back and forth on the soles of your feet. "I could have still..." You were suddenly silenced with a dark finger that pressed against your lips.

"Silence." Yaki hummed, closing her eyes as she tilted her head backwards.

"But-"

"Shh." Yaki whispered, shaking her head. She dragged her finger off of your lips, turning on the heels of her shoes as she sauntered off to sanitize the tokens.

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing together as you swung your apron back and forth in your hand. Just moments before, all the unfetched rumors and news reports of mutants, monsters seen in the shadows, glimpses of anthropomorphic beasts that people assumed were all just furries wandering about the city- had all come to light in one fell swoop. You still hadn't mentioned anything about the rat sounding sentient stick figure that you had seen. You still didn't believe it, though a small, nagging part of you knew that it hadn't been a marijuana induced hallucination. And now this injured mutant- no, this person, had spoken to you. You had seen the genuine pain in his eyes and stature. He was real, and you had to make sure that you, yourself, believed that.

You pursed your lips and popped them, inhaling deeply as you raised your head from it's once bowed position. You looked around the closed restaurant, the brown wooden countertops with their bamboo place mats, with it's hard bar stools tucked neatly under the counter, the multiple booths and small tables littered about. The windows that were now covered in bulky bamboo window shades, and the black rectangular sign flipped around to indicate that it was now closed. You ran your hands through your hair, massaging your fingers into your scalp as you turned around, walking towards the small open kitchen, pushing open the door that led to the pantry.

The door gently swished in and out of the doorway as it silently came to a close, as you stood there. The pantry was lined wall to wall with fresh ingredients, with an entire wall dedicated to a sink and counters where Yaki worked cleaning dishes and drying them for the customers. Another door led to the small hallway in the back of the restaurant, where a small office, lockers lined up against the wall, a walk in freezer, storage room, and a backdoor for deliveries. Everything felt cramped behind the scenes, with you even having to lock yourself in the broom closet just to get some genuine privacy. Sure, you loved your friends working alongside you, even seeing your own boss as a fatherly figure- but all you wanted to do was read fanfictions in peace, without being judged or having someone look over your shoulder without your consent.

Now though, the entire pantry felt... different. The room reeked of bleach, where half an hour before Yaki and Isidore had mopped up the floor and wiped down the metallic shelves that held boxes of fresh produce. You thought of all that work going to waste as you stared at the trail of blood that led from the alley's open back door, hallway, into the pantry room. You shuddered. It was like a scene out of a horror movie, yet you were living the reality of it. You hugged yourself for comfort, rubbing your hands up and down along the goose bumped skin of your bare arms.

"I don't think this is sanitary..." A soft voice pondered beside you. You glanced up from your death stare of the scene before you that seemed to be taken out a low budget horror movie. A fourteen year old boy stood near you, looking much paler than usual, strays of light blond hair sticking to his moist skin. His hands were unsteady as he chewed on the flesh of his left bony wrist, a common tic of his.

"Let's ask Murakami, Isi." You hummed, your eyes fluttering as you blinked, as if this was a regular ol' occurrence in Murakami's Japanese restaurant, and this boy just did not understand that this was his life now.

Isidore nodded, the hair that ended halfway against his neck bopping along with him. The boy turned to clear his throat, directed at the middle aged Japanese man that toiled over the corpse- no _body_ , of the mutant, laid across on his plastron, the side of his face gently propped up on a small bundled up pink sweater, yours actually, on a metal table that had once been filled with dirty dishes, but since cleared off. The blind restaurant owner paid no attention to the teenagers talking behind his back, as he dipped a once white but now pink cloth into a wooden bowl filled with warm water. He pulled the sopping cloth upward, squeezing out excess water, bringing it down to clean off the gash on the forehead of the unconscious mutant.

"Yes, this is not sanitary. You are correct, Isidore." The man's accent ladened voice rang out, even after almost forty years living in this country. His left hand dragged down the freshly bandaged arm of the mutant turtle as he resumed his melodic humming that resonated throughout the drab pantry.

"You were right." You chirped, gently nudging the shell-shocked teenager. He had been the one to drag the mutant into the pantry (after shrieking at the sight of the mutant for a few long seconds) along with Yaki, both loudly arguing and actually _dropping_ the unconscious turtle halfway into the pantry. Both had blamed one another, even though Yaki was seven years older than him, but still managed to act as childish as he was. You knew though that it was all a facade, and arguing was better than just solemnly bringing in the body without a word.

"I know. I always am." Isidore mumbled under his breath, tightening the sleeves of his sea green jacket around his waist. The material was showered with drying blood stains, which really did make him look like he had been involved in something more notorious, and not just that he had slipped in the puddle of blood that had developed, and fell onto his side. The entire side of his jacket made it seem as if he had been shot and the blood hadn't yet clotted.

You watched the disheveled waiter leave, shuffling out of the pantry as he dragged his feet against the blood, leaving footprints behind. It seemed like his one goal was to get blood all over the place, as he left to get a jug of bleach. To either drink it or to clean, only time would tell.

You couldn't move your feet from the place they were effectively glued to. You just kept on staring, staring at the green bandaged arm that laid limply against the metal table. Blood dripped a bit from his fingertips, erupting from an extremely thin slit on his wrist, creating a small puddle near Murakami's loafered feet. Funnily enough, his entire wrist was covered in slits, new and old, scars going up all the way to the inside of his elbow. It didn't take a medical professional to realize where they had come from. No other wounds were that deliberate, or that sinister. Even with the blue mask around his neck that screamed vigilante, or the precisely placed knee or elbow pads, and the bandages around his feet and hands, there came an aura of apprehension. A sense of hidden dread that expressed itself in a few simple cuts.

You swallowed harshly. You found it best to not mention what you saw from your spot to the restaurant owner, as you had a feeling that it would do no one good. Now you wondered if he really was dead. You didn't know anything about the guy, with both Yaki and Murakami simply recognizing him by his... what? He couldn't see! How did _he_ know who this person was?!

The next thing that you knew, your feet were moving without your printed consent, as your brain began to shriek hysterically and threaten you for such a betrayal. You assumed that you had naturally blacked out for a few seconds, because suddenly you were gently cupping the large three fingered green hand in yours, using a spare wet cloth to gently smear away the blood. The rag in your head discreetly moved up along his skin, reaching his wrist and with the utmost precision, began to clean at the opened wounds. Grey skin had developed around the gash as you swallowed. You hadn't been this up close to evidence of self harm before, and you felt a pit of emptiness bloom in your empty stomach.

"You've... met him before." You spoke lightly, as if you two weren't cleaning up an injured humanely... animal? And as if you weren't soothing the wounds of a person in a dark state of mind. Your eyebrows furrowed together as you took long drags of the cloth against the green skin. You glanced to the edge of the metal table, seeing an array of medical supplies that ranged from a bottle of rubbing alcohol, steri-strips, to good ol' bandages. Quickly, with a glance at Murakami who was cleaning the... er, _shell_ of the mutant, you reached over and grabbed the spool of linen into your hand, wrapping your teeth around a loose piece as you yanked a long strand of it. There was a thick ball of congealed saliva in your throat that made it difficult to swallow properly, and your heart had resumed it's ferocious dance against your chest. His hand was surprisingly warm, (so he wasn't dead), but weren't turtles cold blooded? Had the American public education system really failed you this hard?

"Yes." The older man hummed, a smile on his lips as he gently wrinkled his nose, causing his circular black tinted glasses to slide down slightly. You fought back the urge to bear hug this man that you had worked for a year and a half. He was just so darn sweet in his mannerisms and aura.

You paused from your dressing to continue staring at the man, who kept on humming to himself as he dragged his cloth over the mutants face, neck, and shoulders with a gentleness that spoke volumes of their unnamed relationship. You raised your eyebrows, craning your neck forward as you waited for a response, an explanation, but nothing came. A small huff escaped your lips as you bowed your head to continue wiping down the already clean hand that you kept on clutching in your own. "Okay Murakami, keep your secrets." You huffed with a level of annoyance that matched a twelve year old tumblr user, as you pulled a yard of linen, and began to carefully bandage the wounds along his inner arm. Maybe it would've been better to treat it first, but you felt that it was your duty to hide it from your coworkers. Especially Yaki, who, when you had dragged her out into the alleyway to frantically look at the mutants(?) fallen body, had some sort of expression come over her face that you knew well enough to be a mix of both shock and concern, made it obvious that she had a history with the guy. Just like how Murakami did.

A small laugh escaped the restaurant owner before you both fell into equal comfortable silence. You tied a quick bow along his wrist to finish off the bandages, having to hold yourself from pressing a kiss to the material just like your nanny used to do when you were small and needed help with a wound. You stretched out another piece of linen, leaning over his... shell, relieved to see that the other wrist didn't look quite as battered as its counterpart. Soon, the sound of wet cloth streaking against skin, the small pleasant sounds of stretching bandages against skin, and the plunging of a coarse material into a pool of water, before squeezing out it's liquid into a cascading waterfall back into it's bowl, all came together in a type of soothing symphony that eased all of your anxious thoughts-

You realized that the pool of blood at your feet was bubbling.

Your breath hitched as you froze, your lower stomach pressed into the cold edge of the table, with Murakami paying no mind as his native singing in Japanese seemed to combat the frightening sounds happening before him. Your gaze fell to stare at the side of your feet, as you realized for the first time that the water from the medicinal rags had dripped onto the mutants paint streaked shell. Sliding down in small streams, leaking off his plastron, dripping off the side of the rolling table, mixing in with a pool of blood.

_'If another stick figure comes out,_ ' Your mind declared. ' _I'm gonna kill myself_.'

You shook the ominous statement out of your head, as you let go of the spool of bandages to tumble onto the table next to the mutant's side, taking a small step backward. The small puddle was moving. Expanding, twisting, bubbling about as if it was that one alien creature from Stranger Things. Multi colored paint swirled with the blood, as if it was oil on top of water, refusing to mix together, but instead creating beautiful varieties of dangerous colors.

oh hell naw.

You turned around swiftly on your heels and somehow managed to cross into one of the larger wooden dressers that held various plates and other various utensils, yanking open it's heavy doors. They all seemed to scream at you in unison, as you translated their clinking and crashing against the shelves in your own mind.

_I'll shank ya_ , hissed a small metal fork neatly laid in a moist cloth along with it's brethren, one that seemed to come with a heavy Brooklyn accent.

"I'm so sorry!" You whispered back desperately, eyes wide as you rummaged your arm around the shelves, harassing the poor rickety dresser. You shoved about plates, bowls, spoons, forks, knives with both blunt and sharp edges. As you increased your groping, the puddle of congealed blood and angry paint actually began to hiss at you.

Your anxiety refused to allow you to turn around, instead banging pots in your racing mind and slamming into the sides of your skull. _just get the vodka y/n_ , your diseased brain whispered, your inner conscience sounding way too happy for your own comfort.

Your freezing fingers wrapped around the neck of an old beer bottle, the label long peeled off and discarded. You rudely yanked it from its place behind a pile of plates, the glass loudly clanking against the porcelain.

Murakami's head snapped up and his humming ceased.

The blood was screaming now.

You extended your jaw way beyond your comfortable level as you turned on your heels, and started laughing, trying your hardest to cover the incessant shriek that sounded eerily enough like something being born. Your cursed cackle was more of a harsh bark that erupted from the back of your throat, as you ripped off the loose cap from the bottle. Coupled with your barking, you flipped the bottle over and allowed the flat liquid to bubble out, splashing against the pool of blood.

The small scream of the congealed mass went away with a sizzling hiss and a miniature plume of white smoke that erupted from it's dying state. You quickly flipped the bottle upright and shut your mouth, gently grinding your teeth as you tried to ease the pain in your jaw. There was silence.

"...Is that _vodka_?"

You were almost blessed with the magnificent gift of whiplash as you whipped your head to stare wide eyed at Yaki, sticking the arm holding the bottle behind your back. You glanced quickly both ways as if that would help. "... no?" You winced, shrugging your shaking shoulders.

"You are a minor, Y/n." Scolded the older man, both hands curled around the cloth as he pressed his knuckles against the metal table. His features twisted into such a disappointment that it made your eyes burn as you swallowed harshly.

"Yup, you are. That's so irresponsible. I expected more from an eighteen year old." Agreed Yaki, snatching up the bottle in her calloused chestnut brown hand as she held the bottle to her lips and started chugging.

"Yaki!" Snapped Murakami, rushing forward to firmly grasp the forearm of Yaki, yanking it down with much force for a man in his sixties.

Her entire face contorted, as if she had just eaten an entire lemon, the bottle top popping out of her mouth, liquid dusting her plump lips. "I don't like that." She whispered in a hoarse tense voice.

You simply snorted, though your breath were shaking along with your hands. "Good." Was all you muttered as your eyes stayed stuck to the watery pink mass that was once a growing paint... thing.

' _you need therapy, sis_.’ suggested your exhausted brain.

' _How about a box of hair dye?_ ' You wondered back wearily. ' _It's cheaper than therapy._ '

Before your brain could conjure up a valid excuse about how that was not a good idea, you were promptly interrupted by Isidore waddling into the pantry.

The trio stared at him in silence, Yaki sitting on the floor wiping her tongue with a rag as Murakami held the bottle of vodka a little bit too close. 

"Hey Isi," Began Yaki, her voice muffled through a mouthful of rag. "Where's the bleach?" She mumbled as she chewed on the cloth.

"I drank it."

The trio kept on staring, the light breathing of the mutant splayed across the metal table sounding along with the soft ticking of a nearby clock.

Isidore sighed loudly as he pulled out a jug of Clorox from behind his thin back, mumbling under his breath. "Jeez, you guys can't take a joke..." He huffed as he swung the bottle back and forth, shuffling his scuffed Levi's across to slam it onto the table.

The mutants dangling hand twitched and nobody noticed.

Murakami made a small noise of acknowledgement as he moved gently towards you, linking his arm with you as he abandoned the bottle of vodka on the table near the mutants feet, along with the gallon of bleach. "Come, my assistant." He hummed softly, patting your hand warmly with a small smile on his lips as you simply allowed herself to be dragged off.

"Okay." You mumbled, dragging your feet along the linoleum floors, gently dropping your head onto murakami's shoulder. Man, were you tired. Both physically and emotionally. All you wanted to do was lay in bed and watch cringey tik tok's and memes on Instagram of various fandoms. Was that too basic? Even by your standards?

You both wandered into the small line kitchen behind the long rectangular wooden counter. It had been recently cleaned off, along with the two ovens near one another. An hour of shoving Isidore through the oven doors and into small claustrophobic places to get him to clean out the grease would probably be wasted on whatever dish Murakami wished to conjure up.

"How do you know that he... you know... eats?" You questioned, bending over to drag out a giant pot from underneath the counter, feeling slightly stupid, but deciding that it was a valid question. There were many tabloids and conspiracy theories that mutants bit off the heads and limbs of their human victims. Pretty gruesome, but you hoped they were media lies. If that thing in there woke up and started chewing on Isidore's bony arm, you would probably slam a blunt object into your forehead and hope to wake up from your dream.

"He's usually a very hungry young man." Murakami remarked simply, sliding a cutting board from it's usual place against the small wooden privacy walls that segregated the chefs from the customer.

You almost dropped the giant pot, managing to painfully squish it against your boobs before it slammed onto your white (well, really grey) sneakers. "Hungry?" You squeaked in horror, head snapping towards the connecting white door that led towards the pantry.

Murakami picked up a small onion from the cardboard box filled with vegetables that Yaki had left on the counter in its usual spot. "He will not eat anyone, Y/n." He paused for a moment, as if he was pondering his next sentence. "The only thing he will be eating is my soup." He paused from his fast paced cutting, moving his head over to face you. "But he won't be able to if you do not fill up the pot with water and salt. Who knows," he turned his head back to face the counter, a smile on his lips. "He may wake up, feel hungry, and try to eat Yaki's yellow hands."

Now that got you moving.

About twenty minutes later of you crying over cutting up onions, getting emotional over a miniature sized tomato, Yaki bursting in trying to wrangle a butcher knife sneakily from a nearby knife block, and Murakami snatching up her wrist with his hidden ninja skills- led to the almost finished product- homemade vegetable soup.

You stole a few spoonfuls of the concoction, melting every single time the warm liquid slipped down your throat. Man, did you love cooking. If your passion wasn't towards your stupid sketches, you would have become a real chef. College, Gordon Ramsay Hell's Kitchen, and all. But now, this was just a hobby. As was your art.

You yawned quite loudly, (you swore your jaw almost cracked, again) wandering over to the tall freezer in the corner of the small kitchen. It was so late. You and your gang of coworkers had closed up shop at ten thirty, started cleaning up after twenty minutes of goofing off and gossiping about rude customers, and you had taken out the trash at eleven twenty. It felt like _ages_ ago.

"What kind of meat should I grab?" You yawned once more, yanking open the heavy freezer door, a white breath of cold air brushing against your skin.

You could have sworn you felt Murakami's disappointed gaze burrowing into the back of your head. How could a blind man hold such emotion in his stare?

"Oh... yeah." You muttered, slowly letting the handle of the refrigerator slip from your fingers as it closed shut. "It's vegetable soup." _what the heck brain, you failed me._

"But-" You began, turning on your heels to scoop up the excess shavings of the vegetables in your hands. "Doesn't he need meat? If he eats humans?"

There was that infamous Murakami stare again.

You groaned, dumping the shavings into a nearby trash can as you rubbed your face in the crook of your bare arm. "You were joking again... weren't you?" _time to throw hands with my stupidity._

Murakami simply smiled and nodded, obviously enjoying the struggle of the youth. "You are much too gullible, Y/n." He pointed out, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon. The mixed aromas of leeks, shiitake mushrooms, tomatoes, cilantro, green onions all came together to fill up the restaurant with it's delicious scent. Oddly enough, it smelled like home. The sort of home you held in your heart. 

"Yeah," You grumbled, eyebrows knitting together as you picked up the two vegetable stained cutting boards, laying the knives atop of them. "It'll be the death of me." You sighed, a small sigh escaping your parted lips as you slid the boards into the small sink, flicking the tap on.

Murakami paused from his stirring for a moment, frowning, as the sound of the soup bubbling about, and the sink water cascading down the wood filled the small open kitchen. He said nothing, before looking down at the meal he was preparing, as if he were about to say something.

A crash exploded from the pantry coupled with a loud girly scream.

Your head turned to face the pantry door, eyes wide, lips slightly ajar. "Hhrk-" the choking gurgle spilled from your lips as you ran towards the pantry, shoving the door open.

The door slammed loudly against the wall, ceasing all sound inside the pantry, except for one loud voice- " _Please_ don't bite off their heads!" You cried, squeezing your eyes shut as your face contorted in both pain and horror of the images your petty mind conjured up.

Two pairs of familiar eyes, along with a new pair that was both bewildered and in pain- stared at you. In silence.

You bit down on your bottom lip hard, cracking open one squinty eye. "Is that a yes?" Your shrill whispered voice rang out.

"No." Yaki said, as you could _hear_ her grin in her smooth voice. You opened your eyes to find her leaning against the broom that she gripped, black hair tousled as a mess of broken glass combined with spilled vodka lay before her and the familiar smell of bleach, causing many eyes to water from the pungent scent.

You turned your head to face the groggy looking mutant, propped up on one elbow, one eye entirely swollen and black, the other rapidly glancing around the pantry, lines of stress tightened around his mouth, looking quite mystified and as confused as the moment that you met him. It was actually... adorable.

You were taken aback for a moment by the sudden appearance of that statement in your cluttered mind. Where the heck had **that** come from?

You cleared your throat, hands dragging down the rough material of your apron that hung from your waist. "Ah." You proclaimed quite boldly. "He has... awoken."

Isidore looked up from his sprawled position on the linoleum floor, his hair so tousled that it seemed to mimic the branches and leaves of a tree. There was no reason for him to be on the floor, except that he liked the cold, and laying out. "It's a _he_?" He wondered out loud in bewilderment, calling into question Isidore's eyesight.

"Of _course_ he's a he." Yaki paused for a moment, her nose scrunching up as her eyes narrowed, tilting her head to the left slightly. "At least... I think so." She turned, swinging her mop over the mess before her, the screeching sound of glass being moved about and a jug being unceremoniously thwacked, corrupting the ears of the four, nearly shattering their eardrums. "Leo, you're a dude... right?" Her eyes trailed towards the mutants lower plastron.

_Leo_.

Your mind snatched up the name to hoard it for research purposes at the confirmation of your best friend knowing who this very terrifying possibly head biting mutant was. Especially his name.

The mutant seemed to become even more confused with that invasive question, the space between his nonexistent eyebrows knitting together. Which also led to the skin around his black eye stretching, pausing the mutant with a wince. "Uh..." He began with a hoarse, scratchy, borderline husky voice, the type of voice you would imagine hearing when it is described in a badly written fanfiction. "Yeah." 

A burst of questions sprang forth, some completely justified, and some downright weird.

"Are you sure?"

"Can't turtles change their gender? Or... Or is that just those orange and white fish? Those nemo's?"

"What are you implying about Finding Nemo, Isi?"

" _Wait_ —" You demanded, your breaths coming out in short and surprised breaths, "Yaki— _how_ do you know his— I mean, _why_ do you know— are you two— wait, wait, wait..." You took a deep breath in, but it didn't help much. " _huh_?" Your hands were pressed to the sides of your head, your eyes wide in shock and confusion.

The blend of conversation soon became a constant incessant noise, with the mutant only helplessly, albeit understandably, gazing around the pantry, from human to human in utter uncertainty. Murakami, the darling thing, just simply stood in the doorway, with a rag in his hand. As he wiped along the rim of a white bowl that easily fit in his hands with a small and easy smile on his face, ears curious for little details flying around, trying his best to understand where this conversation was headed for.

Your mind, at this point, was just a stupidly chaotic blend of questions and thoughts that were weirdly worded and didn't even make sense to you of all people. It was like all coherent and logical thoughts were being pulled apart, rather aggressively, by the seams. That name, his name, Leo, was repeating itself in your head like a mantra, almost like... a prayer. It certainly wasn't helping.

~~_Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo—_~~

_Oh, god, what is that short for? Is it short for anything?_

~~_Leo. Leo. Leo._~~

_God, that's **such** a pretty name._


	3. he's here and it’s super awkward!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How's the lovely couple doing?" Yaki grinned, suddenly appearing at the table side with her hands politely held behind her back. A mischievous look shining in her red brown almond shaped eyes. "Can I get you anything else? Roses? Maybe some weird sludge I found at the bottom of the soda machine?” She bit down hard on her bottom lip, a wide grin stretching her features.
> 
> You choked on a mushroom.

"Where are my... katanas?"

The sudden question from the silent mutant caused you to drop your croissant. You sighed loudly in disappointment, gazing upon your fallen pastry with genuine pain in your eyes. You bent over and snatched it up, stuffing the barely nibbled piece of bread into your jeans pocket, saving it for the fat greedy pigeons that always perched on your fire escape with feigned hunger in their stupid eyes.

"What the _heck_ are katanas?" You questioned, a bit rude, sure, but he had startled you three times already this night, so it seemed warranted.

Leo stopped chewing on a forkful of cooked vegetables, tilting his head slightly as he simply stared at you. You would have been fine with him gazing upon your acne ravaged face if it wasn't for his eye. That one, injured, psychedelic, purely aesthetic like colored blue eye that seemed to peel you apart like the layers of a fruit. You clenched your hands together, fighting the urge to give him yet another black eye just so you wouldn't have to deal with the sheer control his gaze held over you. _alright you wanna be edge lord, calm down, he's just looking at you,_ your brain scolded you, as your hands unclenched and smoothed against the denim of your jeans.

"They're, katanas." He spoke slowly, staring at you as if he were in disbelief that there was someone out there who did not know what katanas were.

"Explain." You mused, hefting yourself onto the dinner table that was pushed up against a beige wall with a small framed picture of a young Murakami cooking over a small metal pot in his hometown of Japan. The wall was scuffed with dents, scratches on the paint, and flecks of weird gunk that, through combined hours of the three coworkers scrubbing, refused to come out. He sat on the burgundy plush seats, legs crossed over each other in a very uncomfortable position that even made your thighs hurt. He was sitting up straight, his shell squished against a pillow that Isidore had whipped out of his school backpack (no one had batted an eye at _that_ ), your pink sweater draped around his broad shoulders. The pink only seemed to bring out the brightness of his one open eye too. His face constantly twisted into one of confusion, as if his mind wasn't quite on the conversation they were having at the moment. As if he were trying to recall something.

Leo dragged the back of his hand across his mouth with a small sigh. "Swords. They're... Japanese swords." He was cringing now, the pain evident in his eyes.

"See! That wasn't too hard. I mean, how was I supposed to know that?" You crossed one leg dramatically over the other, slapping your hands against your thighs. "It's not like I majored in Japanese samurai training." You made a half shrug, a smile playing on your chapped lips.

"Really?" He raised his brow, holding the bowl to his lips to quietly sip down the broth. "You seemed to wield that broom pretty professionally for a... garbage girl." He snorted into his soup, before putting the bowl back on the table, poking the vegetables about with a pair of chopsticks that Yaki had thrown at his head when he had loudly explained about how this was _not_ an authentic Japanese experience.

"I learned from Star Wars." You began seriously, dragging one of your legs onto the table to place your socked foot onto it. Murakami would scold you if he somehow found out you put your dirty shoes onto his recently polished tables. "And hey," you pointed a manicured finger at Leo menacingly. "I'm the waitress and assistant cook, thank you very much. I'm garbage for the customers to abuse." Oh god, here had begun the self deprecating jokes. It's too early you idiot, too early! You have to ease new people into it, slowly!

"That's-" His head snapped back up from admiring his wooden bowl of soup, disbelief filling his features. "That's not right. You shouldn't be treated that way, Miss. There's no reason for anyone to act rude to a person who is only doing their job." He spoke with perplexity, shaking his head in shame.

You found it endearing that he had sympathy. You had far too many experiences with customers having a breakdown after not being given enough napkins, or their Pizza Gyoza's having only cheese and not pepperoni, that turned against you, tearing apart your sanity just to feel better about themselves. So all in all, you found it difficult to believe his small speech about being treated with respect. God knows that your mother certainly never did. "It's... part of the job." You hesitated for a moment. He was right, but you were being paid to take the abuse... Or, that was what you had just assumed when Murakami offered you the job after watching your skills in the kitchen. "And what did I tell you about calling me miss?" You gently scolded him, pulling your leg from the table to place your chin onto your propped knee. "It makes me sound..." Your eyes narrowed as you squinted. "Old. Call me Y/n dude."

"Y/n _dude_ , huh?" Snickered the mutant, tossing a chopped up carrot into the air and catching it in his mouth. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. Instead the carrot slapped his cheek and plopped sadly onto the bench beside him.

"Shut up." You snorted with a smile, playing with dulled shoe laces, luckily missing that embarrassing Leo moment. You froze, wondering if he would get angry at you for being so snidish. You glanced up at him quickly, the tension in your shoulders releasing as you saw a warm smile being expressed at you. Weird. He was nice. That was something you saw every day. "You know what I meant, _Leo_." Your tongue slightly blepped out as you glanced back over at him. It was nice having a name to attach to the one formerly known as humanoid animal mutant thing. Plus, you liked the way it sounded.

He chortled softly, then brought his head back down to continue bringing spoonfuls of warm vegetable soup to his mouth. That was already his third bowl. Murakami had been right, he really was a very hungry young man.

You smiled back, feeling your stomach clench and punch your throat with nervous energy. Weird. Actually interacting with a mutant felt entirely... normal. You weren't screaming or pleading for your life like the so-called victims of mutants in the blatantly fake yet widely read tabloids. He wasn't nearly as terrifying as those artist depictions of bloodthirsty beasts you saw on tv or on PSA posters in the subways, screaming at you to stay away and notify security if you caught a glimpse of one in disguise. Please. As if any New Yorker was a snitch when it came to their everyday lives. Many were too unbothered and hurrying to get to their destinations. He just seemed like a regular teenage boy, just a lot more respectful and... kind.

"So." You popped your lips, letting your leg drag down so that it dangled off the table along with its twin. You turned to face him, scratching the acne stars along your jawline. "Where did you last leave your sword?"

"Not sword. Katanas." He huffed softly, glancing back up at you, a small vegetable broth mustache on his upper lip. He paused, staring back down into his bowl in silence. Minutes passed but you said nothing, waiting for him to respond. It was obvious that he was thinking, but there never came an expression of clarity. "And... I don't..." His eyes narrowed as he wiped his mouth, his voice wavering and uneasy. He cleared his throat, his voice returning to it's deep yet comforting tone. "I don't remember." He rubbed the side of his face with a free hand, sighing loudly.

"You don't remember... _Anything_?" You spoke slowly, slightly alarmed. Great, an amnesiac mutant turtle? Just what you needed to end the long night.

"Nothing from the _beginning_ of this night." Leo clarified, propping his elbow onto the table to move his hand about with various expressions. "I just remember..." He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, averting his gaze from your stare. "You." He finished softly, snatching up his spoon to once more gobble down what was left of his soup.

You felt your face flush as you bent your head down, picking at a loose thread from the seams on your jeans. "Oh."

"Yeah." Leo mumbled back, folding the napkin that was draped across his lap to wipe at his mouth, his face once more twisted into one of confusion. "Oh."

You bit down on your bottom lip as you stared at the glossy floor before you. _You should tell him about the paint,_ muttered your brain. _He deserves to know that something got to him. About the stick figures, the paint on his shell, everything._

_No_ , you snapped back, your head snapping back up with a look of pure rage coupled with still vivid pink cheeks. _It wasn't real, why would I tell him about something that never happened, huh?_

Your brain didn't respond, but only cleared it's throat.

_His_ throat. You realized that Leo was trying to get your attention and not your brain. You turned your head back to look upon him and the bowl he shyly held up.

"May I have more?" He questioned, wielding the power of puppy eyes over you. Even with a swollen eye he seemed so, so sweet. He seemed like the sort of guy to help an old woman cross the street with her groceries, and the type to bring a cat down from a high tree into the arms of a grateful little girl. Just, an entire cliche projected into real life.

You realized he was patiently staring at you, his arms slightly shaking from eating sustenance so fast after being without food for a good few hours. Or maybe even longer, you certainly didn't know anything about him or his life. "Uh..." You cleared your throat as you slid off the table onto your socked feet, gently taking the bowl from his hands. "Sure, man. I'll grab you some more."

You shared a smile with him as you turned and walked back towards the small line kitchen, hitting your hip against the horizontal door, the small piece of wood swinging back and forth quietly. You stepped across the linoleum floors carefully. You had slipped before and all Yaki had done was throw back her head and laugh, and you would not be making _that_ same mistake once again, thank you very much. You stopped in front of the stove, flicking the gas turners up higher to boil the soup. It was already halfway done, but the more he ate the better. You grabbed the wooden ladle that laid against the metal side, scooping soup into the wooden bowl.

"How isn't he sick of that soup already?" Isidore huffed, standing behind you, having appeared from God knows where, the side of his head craned over your shoulder to sniff loudly at the soup in pompous distaste. "They're vegetables for god's sake." He grumbled, ever the misunderstood fourteen year old, as he tapped his fingertips rapidly against his jawline, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down out of pure anxiety. The poor boy seemed to be always shaking at the speed of a small angry chihuahua.

"He's a vegetarian hoping to go vegan." You cooly explained, ladling more and more into the large bowl, watching as steam began to rise from the soup inside the pot. Weird how the conversation had gone into food between the two of you, but it's something you knew best. Sure, you hadn't gone to culinary school and trained under the greats, but you had learned standing beside your Colombiana nanny and watching the food network as the two of you kneaded the ingredients that made traditional corn flour Arepas. But you knew _food_ , and that had been the main reason Murakami had hired you. You had love and passion, that, coupled with your willingness to learn how to cook for an entire culture you had little experience with, had finally caused the self taught chef to relent and hire you. You straightened a bit, proud at the fact that you knew something that Yaki didn't about Leo. She still had a lot of explaining to do, as did Murakami. But you could get more information out of Yaki through bribery using snacks and being a general annoyance; Murakami on the other hand was as immovable as an Easter island stone head.

"... you're joking." Scoffed Isidore, straightening as he turned to eye the side of his friend's face. Half of his blond hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail that Yaki had tied into, to prevent any loose Isi hairs from getting all over the floors that had been cleaned a second time that night already. "So he's one of those people." The white boy didn't seem to realize how racist he sounded; or was it specist?

" _Those_ people?" You guffawed, laying the wooden spoon across the top of the pot, holding the bowl with both hands as you eyed the boy. Acting as if you hadn't had your own prejudices against mutants only hours before.

" _Vegans_ Y/n!" He spoke with obvious distaste, tossing his lanky pale arms slightly into the air. "This restaurant is for meat eaters only." Isidore declared, crossing his arm as he jutted his bony chin into the air. His foot tapped at a rapid speed, finishing whenever it reached five taps, and then resuming once more.

"Oh," You began with a small dangerous smile that held no humor to it. "So, you wanna bring back turtle soup to the menu and feed it to him?" You raised an eyebrow, a warning for the teen to change his tune. The turtle soup speciality had long been taken off the menu before you had arrived, with Yaki telling you the story about the time Murakami had poured a steaming hot bowl of it into the lap of a bratty Foot soldier, to save the life of an ally. You felt a sense of pride for the restaurant owner for defying the dreaded Clan, for having a sense of morality which you couldn't away about many people. You wished you had worked here just to see that girls face. Now that you thought about it actually, you wondered if the abolishment of the soup had something to do with the amnesiac turtle politely waiting at the booth's table.

"... _could_ I?" He asked quietly, glancing over to where Leo sat.

"No." You scolded, rolling your eyes. "That's like someone giving you human flesh soup. How would _you_ feel about that?"

"Well, I heard from Noah in history class that people used to eat other humans during thanksgiving and that they tasted just like pork." He spoke quickly, pulling thin strands of hair down the sharp edges of his thin face over and over again. "So, yeah." He popped his lips. "I would be down." He nodded seriously, letting his arms sag from their grooming as he tapped his fingers against his jeans.

"Well, Noah's an idiot." You began with a shake of your head, showing your distaste for Isidore's weirdo high school classmates. "He thinks that girls eat their blood soaked tampons for God's sake!" You exclaimed in disbelief, looking over at him for a bit of needed sanity in this stupid conversation.

"... do they?" Isidore spoke in a tinny voice, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar in wonder, as if he was collecting information for his confused bros at his school.

"Oh my _god_." You began, balancing the bowl in one hand, the other hand massaging your temples. Had you been really this stupid at fourteen years old? It was a Tik Tok Trend! Why were they taking a joke seriously? Were boys this dense? Or had American public education always been complete crap? It was probably both. "Just grab your jacket Isidore and get ready. We're going home soon." You sighed. Home. That was a nice warm feeling that you hadn't felt during the entire day. Your legs slightly shook, from either lack of food, or the anxiety of having yet another soft conversation with Leo. Ah, anxiety over a boy; how you had missed that.

"Fine." Muttered Isi, disappointed that he wasn't able to get an exact answer, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, his jacket drenched in Coca Cola where the blood had been carefully scrubbed out by Yaki, just so that his mother wouldn't have a heart attack when he came home. "But I have some questions to ask you on the ride back home." He warned, turning to walk through the kitchen door into the pantry.

"Okay Isi." You muttered, shaking your head. You really needed to talk to Isidore's mom, his guidance counselor, teachers, Murakami, someone. You did _not_ want to be the one to give him an accurate rendition of 'the talk'. That couldn't possibly fall to you, right?

You let a small sigh blow from your mouth as you cradled the bowl against your chest, moving down the line kitchen, nudging open the small wooden door open with your hip as you moved forward. Every step was a struggle. The fatigue started in your thighs, stretching out your sore muscles, weighing you down, spreading towards your brain and clouding your usually chaotic thoughts. You shot a small glance over your shoulder, watching Yaki pass by the circular window embedded in the pantry door. _hurry up,_ cried your exhausted mind, _I just wanna go home!_ Yes, you sounded like a child, but it was almost one in the morning. It would still take around hour to get home, maybe even longer considering the amount of stops it took.

And you still hadn't finished that _test!_ You took a small pause to inhale deeply and release a king, drawn out, internal scream. There was still so much to do, and it was almost Saturday. A new day of more work.

"Thank you." His voice startled you once more, (it was so husky what the heck) as you realized that your heavy feet had shuffled involuntarily towards the booth that Leo patiently sat, hands splayed on his muscled thighs.

"You're welc'." You acknowledged, knowing that your on purpose misspellings sounded weird, but it was just who you were. You plopped the bowl into the waiting hands of Leo, sliding into the upholstered bench seat before him. 

He began to eat up the soup once more, being more focused on his plate than the bemused teenager sitting across from him. You really liked his eyes. They held so much emotion for a mutant. They seemed more beautiful on him then they would be on any other boring human, if that made any sense. It certainly did to you. You placed her chin up on your propped up fist, your eyes lazily gazing upon him.

"You look hungry."

You were startled for a moment, placing both of your arms flat on the cold table as you eyed him. "Hungry?" You were surprised by the mere mention of the word. Now that he did mention it, you could feel your stomach gnawing on your other organs. Whoops, you had forgotten to eat again. That fallen croissant, god bless his service, had been your midnight snack but it had gone to waste. You could feel it in your pocket, beckoning you.

Leo nodded, chewing slowly as he tapped the soy sauce stained wooden chopsticks against his cheek. "I can see that you're pale, plus, your stomach has been growling at me for the last fifteen minutes." A small smile played on his lips as he once again refocused his attention on his soup, poking around the vegetables.

Your cheeks darkened as you placed a hand on your stomach, slowly rubbing it. Yup. This was _definitely_ embarrassing. "All I had were crackers." You muttered, tucking your hair behind your ear as you averted your eyes down to your fingernails scratching at the table.

He stopped chewing, raising an imaginary eyebrow. "Crackers. For... dinner?"

You scoffed, hooking your hands under your chin as you rested your elbows on the table. "No. Breakfast." You shrugged once with your right shoulder. "I don't have much time to eat." You knew you should, but you always got nauseous in the morning, and it lasted until lunchtime where you would drink broth and a bottle of water. Physical food was never on the mind unless you were cooking and serving it.

Leo frowned, looking down at his wooden bowl full of steaming hot vegetable soup, placing his chopsticks down. He picked up his spoon, wiping down the utensil with his napkin. "Here." He pushed the bowl forward, dipping the spoon into the soup. "Eat." He nodded at the meal, clasping his hands over the other on the table.

You blinked slowly, gazing from the soup to Leo, and then back to the soup. "No you- you need to eat more than me, alright?" You pushed the bowl back with a shake of your head. "I can just go and get myself my own bowl-" You began, standing up.

"No, just—" Leo took hold of your wrist, tugging you back down. "Eat. I feel like you'll pass out on your way to the kitchen." He chuckled, pulling his hands back to his lap, picking up the napkin laid across his thighs as he neatly folded it up.

You suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. Sharing a soup with a _boy?_ Hadn't your mother taught you better? And, wasn't this super unsanitary? But you wanted the soup, you really did. It smelled so good, the waft of a warm creamy concoction irritating your nostrils, seducing you. You hadn't eaten in so long, except for the two nibbles you had taken from your fallen croissant. Shouldn't you be dead by now? Even college students remembered to have their daily intake of sodium high ramen.

"Fine." You huffed with slight annoyance at his kindness, wrapping your hands around the wooden bowl as you pulled it back to yourself, grabbing the utensil as you carefully took a small sip. The flavor sucker punched you in the face. You slammed your hand on the table, causing the poor mutant to jump as you covered your mouth, eyes wide. "Dude this is- I'm such a great cook!" You laughed in pure disbelief, staring greedily at the soup, as you began to shovel spoonfuls of vegetables into your mouth. You didn't eat much of the food you cooked here in Murakami's noodle shop. It had never occurred to you before, and now you had realized just how stupid that sounded.

Leo laughed, a wide grin on his face as he twisted the napkin back and forth in his bandaged hands. "You know what? I agree."

You met his grin with a tight lipped smile of your own, vegetables crammed into your cheeks as you chewed slowly. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the gentle sound of the light rain tapping against the large windows of the front of the restaurant, with distant thunder rumbling across the city. Other than that, the city was silent. The morning was already beginning, at the late hour of midnight.

The mutant shifted in his seat, as he rested his arms flat against the table. He rested the back of his head against the cushioned seat of the booth, sighing quietly as he closed his eyes. You looked up from your soup as your internal voice began to berate you. _Don't look at his wrists, don't look at his wri-_ god **damn** it you had looked at his wrists! You grimaced at the splotches of dark red blood that had melted through the bandages, as your mind went to dark places. You wondered just how hard must the life of someone be, to lead to those kind of wounds. You wanted to hug him, but you barely knew him at all. What gave you the right?

"How's the _lovely_ couple doing?" Yaki grinned, suddenly appearing at the table side with her hands politely held behind her back. A mischievous look shone in her red brown almond shaped eyes. You were already nervous. "Can I get you anything else? Roses? Maybe some weird sludge I found at the bottom of the soda machine?" She bit down hard on her bottom lip, a wide grin stretching her features.

You choked on a mushroom.

Leo's face was not green anymore, but an embarrassed pink that dusted his cheeks that seemed to melt into the color of his neck as well. He only looked up at the ceiling in silence, pressing his lips thin, his eyes flicking back and forth.

_kill me,_ groaned your poor mind. You took a deep breath, your head snapping to glare at Yaki, with all the deep rage contained inside your soul. Yaki kept on grinning, obviously having a great time embarrassing the two of you.

You tilted your head and smiled back as sweetly as you could, manifesting the energy of the young spoiled brat you once were. You then straightened yourself, swung your foot back, and slammed it into the base of her muscled calf. Your toes would certainly regret that in a few minutes.

Yaki let out a loud groan as she bent over, hoping on her other free leg as she rubbed her left calf. "OW!" She cried out, leaning her hand on the corner of the table, huffing. "I was just _joking_ , Y/n!" She grumbled, though the ghost of a smile twitched along her lips. She seemed to be proud at your sudden act of violence.

Leo released a weak laugh, nervously twisting his hands together, refusing to make eye contact with the flustered, violence inclined teenager in front of him. "Aren't jokes the reason you always get into trouble?" He questioned, looking up at the six foot tall teenager.

"Yes." Yaki spoke with all seriousness, smoothing her curling black hair matted with gel with her calloused dark hands, its neon yellow splotches a constant reminder against her palms. "Yeah, they are." She then turned her attention back to you, as you had just begun to wonder how many years Yaki and Leo had to have known one another to have this level of rapor. "So," began Yaki, drumming her knuckles along the edge of the table. "Ready to go?"

You held the bowl to your lips, raising an eyebrow. "Hm?" You hummed through a mouthful of soup, placing down the empty wooden bowl back onto the table, wiping your mouth clean with the back of your hand. "We're leaving already?" You started with a perplexed look on your face, as if you hadn't just scolded Isidore for not being ready to leave soon.

"Yeah, kid." hummed Yaki, ruffling the hair of her puzzled friend. "It's, like, one in the morning. I just caught Isidore going down on a monster energy drink in the closet. That means that it's time to go." Yaki chuckled softly, tugging on your elbow.

"But we can't just," You sputtered, lifting your hands up to motion over at a very polite Leo, who simply sat there with his hands in his lap, and a small smile on his lips. "Leave Leo here all alone!" You retorted back.

Yaki raised a scruffy eyebrow, pressing the knuckles of her right hand on the table, the other hand on her hip. "What are you suggesting, huh? Staying here overnight?"

"I mean..." You began, scratching your jawline.

"No." Yaki began firmly, shaking her head. "I know you were gonna say that, you giant nerd. Murakami is letting Leo stay here until he's ready to leave. He has a home too you know." She motioned over at leo. "Plus, we will, unfortunately, be back in seven hours. Tomorrow's another day of work!" She pumped her arm with a dead glazed over look in her eyes.

_oh good,_ mumbled your half asleep brain. You were genuinely looking forward to the next day. Only if he was still here the next morning. "Okay." You sighed, hiding the choking disappointment that welded up in your throat, wiggling out from the bench and standing up, collecting the bowl and the utensils.

"Can't wait for tomorrow, Y/n dude." Leo flashed you a grin, his broad arms crossed over his scuffed up plastron. A streak of pink paint glistened on the corner of his plastron. It winked at you.

* * *

You adjusted the sea green hoodie over Isidore's head, tucking his blond hair behind his ears as you simply shot him an exasperated look. "Dude, don't ever ask a girl that question, alright? You're fourteen, a baby." You mumbled the last part to yourself, as if trying to convince yourself that he still had some innocence in him at such an impressionable age.

"I'm _not_ a baby." scoffed the teenage boy, as he shoved away your gentle hands. " _Mason_ is a baby." He corrected, acting very much like a baby as he tugged at the struck zipper. He looked at you with wide glistening eyes, silently asking you for help.

You rolled your eyes, your chapped lips tugging into a smile, as you quickly zipped up his jacket. "Yeah, because Mason is seven years old. Cut your baby bro some slack." You smiled, gently patting your hand on the side of his deathly pale face.

"Yeah, well," Isidore scoffed, crossing his bony arms as he puffed out his chest. "You don't live with him." He dramatically tossed his head to the side, momentarily forgetting that his hair had been passive aggressively tucked back into his hoodie.

You acknowledged Isidore's statement with a small noise. You were more focused on what was going on behind Isi. Yaki and Leo were deep in conversation, the mutant had his legs propped up on the table, a blanket wrapped around his broad strong, very green shoulders that you wanted to poke and prod with your handy broom.

Yaki laughed and gently shoved Leo's head back playfully, who simply grinned widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his frame shook with his laughter.

"Can we _go?"_ Isidore groaned, gripping your shoulders and shaking you back and forth.

"Yeah, c'mon." You spoke stiltedly, blinking rapidly as you turned to look at the kid. You had gotten distracted somehow. You forced a small smile as you turned to look at Isi. Why did you hurt all of a sudden? You swallowed harshly, your brows narrowing as you looked upon the boy with a bit too much intensity, concentrating on your turbulent thoughts.

Yaki patted Leo's head as she moved towards her two friends, gently slapping her hands onto Isidore's face. "You're annoying. Let's go." She clamped her hands on the shoulders of Isi, swiftly turning him around as she streered him towards the exit. Isidore placed his hands against the recently cleaned glass door, leaving behind grubby fingerprints, not wanting to be crushed against it. Yaki shoved her hand down her shirt, yanking out a key attached to a chain as she pushed her back against the open door. A cold breeze rushed into the restaurant, making the already low temperatures of the noodle shop drop by a few more degrees. That, and the sheet of light rain that drenched every single thing that was made out of atoms, made it _hella_ cold.

Isidore had already naruto ran out- though Yaki had been quick with her lightning quick reactions to grab the hoodie of the fourteen year old. Isi fell onto the floor with a loud groan, his legs a mess underneath him as he glared up at his mother figure. She cleared her throat, nodding over into the restaurant.

Isidore huffed as he looked inside, crossing his arms over his chest. "Bye... _turtle_."

You flicked your fingers against the base of Isidore's forehead, cocking an eyebrow as you tilted your head. "Bye, _Leo_." You corrected, pushing your free hand through you hair as you looked over at him. You panicked and made a pair of finger guns at him.

Yaki stared at you in disappointment as she pushed your hands back down slowly, shaking her head. Then, with a grand smile she turned and looked towards Leo, shoving and kicking the two of you out of the restaurant. "See ya later, Leo- **NERD** -o."

Your head snapped back to stare wide eyed at Yaki, your mouth dropping open. "That's his nAME?!—" You exclaimed in scandalized disbelief, before being unceremoniously shoved outside, right into poor Isidore who had decided to be polite and wait for his friends.

Yaki slammed the entrance door shut, the lock turning as the trio walked along the sidewalk, their passing outlines throwing shadows along the red curtains of the noodle shops large windows. Your flailing arms were surely noticeable though, casting a turbulent shadow, as you yelled at your friend for never revealing his real name- not at all realizing that he could easily hear you and your passionate rant.

Leonardo looked down at his lap, one hand holding the folds of the blanket tightly around his upper torso. He gently played with a throwing star, the sharp edges dulled and bent, with your name shakily scrawled on in sharpie in your own messy handwriting. It was stained with pink paint and splatters of blood.

"Bye, Y/n."

* * *

The subway rocked from side to side, shaking the drowsy inhabitants inside, though the constant screech of metal against metal made sure you all stayed awake. The train was mostly empty. That is, except for the three sleepy teenagers in the last cart, who leaned on one another for rest, and a man with a beard covered in beads and braids, who was singing to himself loudly and dancing around the bacteria ladened poles. None of you paid much attention. If he didn't bother you guys, then you three wouldn't be bothered by him.

Isidore was sprawled across three sticky plastic subway seats, his head situated against the thighs of Yaki. Her head rested against the plastic windows of the subway, banging against it with every harsh turn and movement that the train made. You, on the other hand, refused to fall asleep. You sat, cuddled into Yaki's warm side, clutching your backpack against your chest, hunched over as you glared at the space beneath the line of seats before you.

Your mind was blank. You weren't thinking about anything at the moment. Just trying not to fall asleep or else you guys would miss Isidore's stop, since it was up to you to be the responsible one, apparently. You yawned loudly, reaching up a hand to rub at your eye, as you shook your head at the roaring ferocity of your exhaustion. You there had one last stop to catch, but that meant walking about a full minute towards the next train. You weren't sure if you could make it with these numb legs of yours, matters not being helped by the rain that had contaminated your fingers, making them even colder.

Something moved out of the corner of your eye.

At first, you didn't pay the small movement much attention. You assumed it was Isidore readjusting himself on Yaki's lap, as his light breathing synchronized with the twenty year old. Or the chaotic young woman who was subconsciously combing her long caramel brown fingers through the boys white blond silk like hair. Hell, it could've easily been the man who had suddenly decided he wanted an audience to his operatic haunting vocals. He danced from pole to pole, getting closer and closer, but you didn't mind. Yaki was right beside you, and she could easily grab the man by his beard, and slam his forehead into the glass window behind you both.

You heard a squeak.

The hope that you held in your mind that the past events of the night were simply a delusion, shattered once you heard that shrill shriek for attention.

Your breath hitched as your nails dug into the large pocket located in front of your pink backpack. You bit down on your bottom lip, and let your gaze trail off to the left. A gasp erupted from your mouth, before you slapped your hand over your mouth.

There, in all of its infinite glory, was a small stick figure, about the size of one of Yaki's large hands, tearing apart a subway safety pamphlet atop of the bench in front of you, clutching it tightly with it's little stick hands somehow clutching the paper. It's so called hands gripped the sides with bent paper, almost unnaturally sentient, something that a human with missing hands could do. It seemed agitated, scrapping its little feet against the sticky linoleum seats, sliding in white liquid that excreted from its body. It certainly wasn't happy, that much was obvious. It paused, chunks of multi colored paper hanging from it's line mouth. Slowly, it looked up at you. And though it had no eyes, it seemed to recognize you. With no eyes and a blank face, it saw you.

You simply stared back, your right leg jumping up and down rapidly, almost

stomping loudly against the metal ground. It was involuntarily, your anxiety having to release itself in some way that wasn't crying or hyperventilating in a panicked frenzy. The voice of the singing man grew louder and louder into its climax, your free damp palm wiping down on the base of the backpack, over and over again, as whatever dampness was wicked away was replaced twice more.

_stomp on it!_ Your brain cheerfully screeched as your adrenaline rushed throughout your pulse, skyrocketing your heart rate. _no!_ You scolded yourself, shocked that your mind would conjure up such a bloodthirsty act. _that's murder!_ You snapped back, as a part of you grew giddiness at your self righteous attitude. _Oh, **now** it was murder?_

The stick figure got on all fours, tilting its flat circular head side to side slowly, the paper crinkling as it studied you. It seemed confused by the noise you made, its back arching with violent jerks with each stomp you made with your right foot. How was it that a bleached white creature that was smaller than the average rat, could hold so much brutality in its blank face?

You slowly lifted your legs, planting the bottoms of your squeaking feet against the slippery subway bench. Your sneakers slipped and slid loudly against the seats, not helping your nerves at all as the creature advanced. Little by little, it took tentative creeping steps towards the edge of its seat, as the man threw back his head to let out a bellow of vocalization, practically rocking the entire cart. Your labored breathing was starting down its track of turning into a weak wheeze, as you bit down on your bottom lip as your eyes burned with tears.

The stick figure hopped off the seat, arching its back and hissing lowly at you. A warning. That's what it was.

You released a weak cry as you squeezed your eyes shut, praying for some sort of relief from this hell.

There was silence.

After a full minute, you allowed your eyes to squint open cautiously, just in case it sat on your backpack, ready to strike. Only to find that the stick figure was gone. In its place, along the linoleum floor, were four white dots of paint.

* * *

"Say hi to your mom and Mason!" You smiled, trying to sound as chirpy as you could with the time being one am, gently cupping the thin chin of Isidore in your hand.

Isidore grunted as he pushed off your hand. "Okay." He mumbled. His twitching fingers tapped aggressively against his hips before they paused. He took a small step forward as he awkwardly snaked his arms around your shoulders, pressing his chin next to your head in an awkward. "I will." He spoke softly, before yanking himself away to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket, bowing his head as strays of blond hair covered his hazel eyes.

Yaki noisily rubbed her nose with the collar of her shirt, as she ruffled up his hair. "Remember to finish your homework on the bus tomorrow, I don't want your math teacher to call me again on Monday isi." Isidore whined loudly in feeble protest, making up excuses as he tried to tear himself away from his friend's/mom's death grip.

" **And** \- don't stay up reading Percy Jackson again or I'll break into your apartment and steal your books again." She paused to smile down at him in silence for a few seconds. "Okay, love ya!" Yaki grinned, gently tweaking his button nose as he stepped back with a small annoyed huff.

"I'll play minecraft then." A small smile twitched along his pale chapped lips.

You and Yaki stared at him in silence, unamused, trying to be good role models even if you all knew very well that you would've done the same at his age.

"Go to bed or I'll tell Murakami." You threatened, poking your finger straight into Isidore's forehead. Your frown soon twisted into a grin as you pinched his cheek. "Goodnight."

Isidore huffed as he nodded slowly, scuffing his sneakers against the dirty littered sidewalk, the large apartment complex looming behind him. "'Kay, be safe." He turned around, moving towards the main entrance of the complex, yanking the door open as he simply nodded at his two coworkers, rushing forward into the main lobby.

"Love you too." You and Yaki spoke in unison, standing close to one another. As if neither of you wanted him to enter that apartment complex alone.

After a few minutes of close watch, the both of you linked your arms together and crossed the dimly lit street. The eerie silence following you both around, echoing across the dead city.

* * *

The keys loudly jingled as the doorknob twisted, pushing forward and dragging against the beige carpet. A dark hand reached out and flicked on the light switch, illuminating the drab living room. Yaki took a step forward, yawning loudly as she stretched her arms out, her back loudly popping.

You shuffled forward, your eyes blinking slowly in annoyance as you shielded your line of sight with your free hand. "For God's sake, can you turn off that _light_?" You whined, your voice dull and monotone as you rested your backpack atop of your head, squinting angrily at the fan that threw yellow light onto its inhabitants and drab furniture.

Yaki huffed as she flicked the switch off, cascading the apartment into darkness, less for the bright moonlight spilling into the room through one of the windows located at the end of the hallway. "Dramatic." She scoffed, tossing her black canvas bag onto a forest green chair with an unholy amount of cat hair, turning it into a seat riddled with black, orange, and white. The other black seat was pristine, practically shining in the moonlight. It was obvious who was the neat one.

"Well," Yaki groaned, pushing her free hand through her hair as she shrugged off her black jacket. "I'm deceased. Night." She breezed past you, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple.

You huffed,hefting your backpack strap over your shoulder. "Night." You shuffled towards the small open kitchen, tossing the backpack onto the counter. You sniffed loudly as you pulled off your sneakers, tossing them into the corner of the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge door, you snatched up a water bottle, wandering towards the small room in the hallway. The bathroom in front of the bedroom was shut closed, the sound of running water filling the empty apartment.

You dragged your fingers across the drab beige walls, riddled with dents, holes, peeling paint, and scratches from angry feral cats. You took a few long seconds to finally paw off the cap of the water bottle, chugging down the fresh liquid. With a small sigh, you bumped the bedroom door open with your hip, taking in the warmth of the room.

A dresser was pushed into the right corner near the door, covered with pictures, makeup brushes, loose clothes, and papers. Lots of them. The other smaller dresser was on the opposite side of the room, littered with jars filled with brushes and dirty water, oil paints, and pads of paper. A large double door leading towards a small closet took up a good chunk of the wall to your, right next to a bunk bed, the top bunk messy and unmade, the bottom neatly tossed together.

You sighed. _at least she cleans the dishes_ , you noted, pointing out the positives in your friendship. _and pays the bills on time_ , hummed your brain, annoying you with the obvious facts.

Your socked feet left light imprints against the hard dirty carpet, as you moved towards the small window against the front wall. Tacked to the casement window was a large piece of canvas, blocking out the moonlight and turning the moonlight rays into a beige color. You paused in front of the cloth, dragging your fingers across the harsh parchment. Swirls of blue coated the canvas, with its lights, darks, different tones painted over a light pencil sketch that you had pondered over for days. The streaks that resembled a quivering quiff, the almond eyes of a reddish blue, springing with emotion and an intelligence that was too advanced for a painting. Yaki, in all of her glory, looking off into the distance with a bright smile on her face. You smiled back. Your work of art wasn't a piece of crap after all.

"It's coming along great, kid." Yaki smiled, her sentence muffled as she moved her toothbrush around in her mouth, a hand on her hip. She had already changed into a pair of sweats and a black sports bra, scars riddling along her nearly nonexistent chest, and along her waist.

"Thanks." You grinned, feeling your cheeks darkening as you twisted your hands around your water bottle, the plastic creaking with the sudden force. You gently scratched away a splatter of blue in the corner of the canvas, gently biting down on your tongue. You sighed as you turned around, crossing your arms as your nails tapped against the bottle. "So." You popped your lips. "Any mail?"

Yaki made a small grunt of acknowledgement as she took a side step towards her dresser, snatching up a small square letter laid on top of a five inch tall pile. "Here." She stated, holding it forward.

You dragged your feet across the harsh carpet, taking the letter. You admired both sides as Yaki walked out of the room, the sound of her loudly spitting into the sink indicating where she had gone. There was no return address on the piece of mail, causing your sensitive heart to sink. You swallowed harshly, placing your water bottle on Yaki's messy drawer as you wiggled your finger under the glued down top of the letter, tearing it open. You pulled out a cheap store bought card that held a little duck crying 'congratulations!' You opened it up with a frown. A wad of cash fell out, all hundreds. Your eyes flashed with anger as you read the few words scrawled onto the card. You tossed it onto the dresser, snatching up the cash that fell to the ground to crush it in the grasp of your sweaty palms, as if you could inflict harm on her. Somehow. Some way.

Yaki entered the room once more, rubbing a thick lotion between her hands as she carefully massaged it into her cheeks. She sighed, eyeing the look on your face. She already knew. "What was it _this_ time, baba?"

You fell onto the bottom bunk bed, your limbs sprawled as the wad of cash hung limply from your hand. It meant nothing to you. It never had, not since you were little, and certainly not now. You sighed and motioned towards the small yellow card on the drawer.

Yaki took up the card with a frown, opening it to read the small inscription inside. She opened her mouth and closed it, looked up at you, and then down at the card, her brow furrowed. "Milo says... hi?" She looked up, an eyebrow arched in confusion. "Isn't Milo your... puppy?" She wondered out loud in bewilderment, actually having the audacity to let out a small chuckle.

You flopped over onto your stomach, picking up your pillow to smash it against your face with a loud groan. "Yes." You bemoaned, lifting your head up. "My mom _really_ sent me a card full of cash just to tell me my dog says hi." Then, as quickly as embarrassment had gotten ahold of you, anger replaced it with its deeply engrained claws. "God, I _hate_ her!" You suddenly exploded, feeling as childish as ever to your horror, slamming your fists into the side of your pillow. But it was too late, you were pissed _off_ and needed to vent. "How _petty_ is she? It's been almost two **years**! It's like she keeps going out of her way to keep giving giant, blatant F you's to my face. I mean, what does she expect me to do? I wouldn't move back, even if I had the chance to! I'd rather move to, to, to _**Kansas**_!" You erupted, throwing your hand up as it slammed into the wooden upper bunk. You gritted your teeth and let out a muffled scream, before squishing your face back into your pillow in defeat. Talking about it never made it better. By the time you had sworn to yourself that you were over it, your so-called mother came along to send your emotions careening all over the place. It still felt like an abusive relationship, even with her being three hours away in some obscure town that no one gave a damn about. But you still did, and that was all your own fault.

Yaki stared at you for a moment, chewing on her inner cheek, wondering just how she could respond. There was silence for a few moments before she just shrugged, gently pushing the card back into its letter. "As long as she keeps sending money, she can keep being passive aggressive. I mean, who's really the loser here, huh?" She smiled, winking over at you.

* * *

You threw your leg over your thigh, as it jittered up and down spastically. Could a leg have anxiety? Yours definitely did. It probably didn't help that the events of this night still held its power over you. It was exciting in a way, if you completely shoved away the thought of... stickies, from your mind. You had met a _mutant_. One who held such a story to him, and you desperately wanted to know it. The amnesia, the paint on his shell, the way he had just fallen out of the sky- you just had so many unanswered questions. Your mind wandered over to the scars, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. That was none of your business, and it was for the best that you just forgot it. At least, for the time being.

You propped your chin onto your arm as you squinted at the piece of large canvas hooked over the window. You twirled a dirty paintbrush between your fingers, the tip crusted with blue as you tilted your head to the side, trying to find the right angle. Only Yaki's upper torso was painted in, the other half was only sketched and shaded in with your trust mechanical pencil. To figure out what shade of blue paint was needed to indicate shadow was a challenge, to say the least.

You sighed, glancing at the phone balanced on your thigh, pressing the home button. The screen poured out bright light as you squinted angrily at it, finally deciphering that it was two twenty five in the morning. _Charming_. You yawned loudly, your jawbone twinge with pain as you gently winced.

Yaki snorted from her bunk as she rolled over, adjusting the blankets around her as she relaxed with a soft sigh. You let out the breath that you had been holding, thankful that you didn't wake your friend from her deep slumber. You didn't want to get yelled at in Japanese over your own personal sleep habits.

The heavy canvas spread out underneath you, was stained with heavy layers of different colors, each vibrant in their own ways. It was more of a piece of art than the canvas portrait that hung from the window frame. You stood up slowly, your hand resting on the edge of the metal fold up chair, tapping the paintbrush across your thigh. You placed a hand against the wall, leaning against it as you used the paintbrush handle to push aside the canvas. A burst of moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating the paint on the sheet of canvas below. You admired the view that was really, a different alley adjacent to another apartment building. You stood there, listening to the distant wail of police cars, feeling ever so slightly, at home.

The loud crash of a trash can being knocked over almost made you stab herself in the eye with your paintbrush, as a yelp escaped you. You moved quickly to the side, stuffing the brush down your bra, taking a glance at the bunk bed to see that Yaki hadn't moved at all, making no indication that the noise had woken her up. You planted the palms of your hands onto the walls near the window, your breath pumping in and out of your mouth erratically. It was a rat, just a _stupid_ rat, or maybe it was a very aggressive pigeon ganging up with a rat to terrorize you for that croissant you had left behind in the pocket of your jeans. It would not be the first time that had happened.

You finally found the mental strength to ease your breathing, closing your eyes as you released a shaky breath. You took a step to the side, and looked outside.

There was a stick figure, standing staring straight at you, blood coating it's lower round face.

You let out a strangled cry as you slapped your hand over your mouth, ducking under the window still, splaying your free arm across the lower wall.

They found you! Those **bastards** found you!

A small hysterical laugh erupted from your lips as you pressed your hand harder against your quivering lips. Oh man, this really would be the way to die. You prayed that Yaki didn't write 'tormented to death by a stick figure' on your gravestone.

After easing your small ragged gasps for air, you slowly peaked over the window ledge, using only your forefinger to gently tug at the piece of canvas.

There were three stick figures now.

The blood stained one calmly sat on the base of a tipped over trash can, it's stick legs gently curving around the metal, it's arms politely gathered in it's lap. It seemed so human, staring at your window, seated as if it was a doll and not a bloodthirsty living painting. Another stick figure, this one had scraps of paper attached to his flat face. The stick sat on its knees, it's arms wrapped around a dead pigeon with a bite taken out of it's chest, bits of flesh and feathers gathered with the pieces of paper around its mouth. And then the last one, standing in the middle of the alley, it's paper face bent backwards in half, staring up at you. The deep indent of a diagonal stick across it's chest, crinkles gathered around its body. The worst part was that they all had eyes, and they were looking directly at you.

_that's the one I slapped_! Your panicking brain exclaimed, seemingly having conjured a coherent thought, against all the incessant internal screaming in your head.

You realized that all three were staring you down with vague intent, in silence. That subway stick figure had stopped chewing on its prey, its paper splattered with crimson red tilting its head at you.

A small incessant hiss escaped their lips, accumulating all together as it grew louder and louder, their backs arching in and out as they simply stared at you with their blank, dead faces.

_Oh god_ , you realized with horror; _they recognized me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the love! Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed, it gives me the serotonin needed to continue! \\(‾▿‾\\)


	4. oh no! he’s... a joy to be with.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo tossed his head dramatically, sticking his dagger into the air. "Over my dead body!" He boomed with great power and determination, eyes ablaze. 
> 
> "Then so be it!" You shrieked and rushed forward with the kitchen knife. You promptly stopped and, maintaining eye contact with an eye widening Leonardo, poked the tip of your chef's knife into the cucumber's squishy skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes from light hearted crack to a pretty dark place— so uh,,, hopefully you enjoy that!

You sliced along the base of the mushroom, thinly dividing along the vegetable, as you lifted up the wooden cutting board. You scraped the fungi into the steaming pan, boiling into the mixture of teriyaki sauce and sesame oil. The hiss and pop of the liquid was smothered by the layer of sliced mushrooms, as you grabbed the wooden spoon laid against it and began to stir. Your eyes were bloodshot and aching, bits of red acne dotting along your forehead and temples. Your stomach pressed up against the counter, your legs stiff and uncomfortable by your lack of sleep. A loud yawn erupted from your mouth, as you violently shook your head, trying to force the sleep that had taken ahold of your body to go away.

It was only eight in the morning, the restaurant opened up at ten, and you still weren't halfway done with the preparations. There were meals to prepare, vegetables to cut up for the day, tables to wipe down, windows to clean, dough to knead, meat to defrost- and here you were making some more soup. You weren't sure why. You had arrived this morning with Yaki, and had found the pots and the bowl that Leonardo had used clean and dried.

But he was nowhere to be found. A part of you wondered if you could coax him out of his hiding place with this vegetable soup that he seemed to enjoy so much- but you knew it would not work out. He had... Left. You were disappointed at the fact that the last thing that he would probably remember of you was being almost decapitated with a broom and having finger guns pointed in his general direction. You were simply too much of a dork, a spastic spunky eighteen year old with parents that didn't seem to spare you a call or a card that had more than your dog saying hello.

Then there had been the added stress of the chaos from this morning. With those stick figures. Your anxiety had forced you into the bathroom for ten minutes of nervous puking, before sliding under your bed covers with a small pocket knife from Yaki's stash, and googling how to melt paint. You had only acquired four hours of sleep. You were, to put it delicately, dead inside. Your hands shook violently, not a great skill when your job consisted of slicing up vegetables and meats.

The sound of aggressive Mario Kart music filled the dining room and the small open line kitchen, as Yaki roller skated around the room, a bucket of swishing bleach in one hand, a rag in the other as she quickly gave every table and chair a wipe down. The vending machine in the corner hummed excitedly for the day, it's dim yellow lights flickering, making a strobe light show onto the linoleum floor in front.

You yawned once more, your eyes watering as you rolled your sore shoulders, unwrapping the plastic off a box of green onions, carrots, and radishes. The smell of fresh vegetables wafted towards you, hungering you even more. You had eaten a few handfuls of chips, and chugged down two bottles of water for your acne, but that had been about half an hour ago.

You were rudely shaken from your gentle daydreaming by a bucket slamming onto the counter before your, bleach splattering onto the wood as Yaki quickly wiped it down. "I gotta go pick up Isi." Spoke the messy haired woman, her black crop top riding dangerously above her muscled flat stomach. "Want me to pick you up some coffee?" Hummed Yaki, grinning at you knowingly as she ripped the Velcro off of her roller skates, slapping the pair onto a cushioned bar stool.

You let out a small sigh as you decapitated the ends of the green onions against the wooden cutting board, glancing up at your friend. "Do I really look like I need it?" You muttered, wiping the side of your mouth with your wrist, wielding the knife easily in your grip.

Yaki shot you a smile as she grabbed the corners of her jeans, wiggling her hips as she adjusted them higher over her stomach. "Oh yeah. You look like death, baba." She gently teased, using your nickname that she had created just for you when you two had first met over on Instagram. You still remembered the moment she had texted you almost eight years ago, praising your horribly made animation of Zuki and a oc of yours who you had long ago realized was the Mary Sue to rule all Mary Sue's. You had been only eleven years old, having begun your adventures in animation ever since you were seven, and finally being allowed to open up an account after months of begging. If your mom hadn't relented, you would've never been able to meet your best friend. 

"My preferred aesthetic." You exhaled, exhausted, as you quietly pondered. Coffee did seem like a blessing during this moment, as you really did not want to be the waitress that passed out on the tables of your customers. You three needed any morsel of tips that you could attain, especially Isidore. It came to the point where you just slipped your tips in with his. With your mother constantly sending money to buy your silence, you simply had no reason to keep it. Living in one of the most impoverished provinces in New York City helped too.

"Fine." You nodded, the mere thought of coffee causing your sleep deprived soul to flutter with hope. "Starbucks?" You asked with a tone of longing tampering with your hoarse voice.

Yaki simply threw back her head and laughed for a few long, dramatic seconds, her arms crossed over her heaving chest. She stopped as quickly as she had begun, looking back at you with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, I don't think so. McyD's it is then." She snatched up a pair of beaten Nike's from the floor as she hopped on one foot, slipping both on.

You nodded in slight disappointment, looking down at your cutting board. You didn't continue cutting, but looked back up at your friend. "Hey, uh... Yak-Yak." You began nervously, forcing your attention onto the multiple green onions that you had spent a full minute slicing and dicing. You nibbled on your bottom lip, the peeling skin rubbing off.

"Hm?" Yaki grunted, standing up as she plucked loose hairs from her shirt.

"Where do you think Leo went?" It was as if there was no trace of his existence. As if the events last night had not occurred- but you knew better. You knew that those stick figures were dangerous little creatures. If they were, as you suspected, some sort of new weird mutants, than Leonardo couldn't have been a dream either.

Yaki paused, her brow furrowing for a moment as she thought about it. She smiled at you. "He probably went... home." She began walking towards the restaurant's entrance door, as you nodded at her reasoning. It was so obvious, but you didn't want it to be true. "But," Yaki began, turning her head as she placed her hand on the doorknob of the entrance, the open sign facing towards the two. "He'll be back. They always come back." And with that eerie statement, she yanked open the door as the small bell above the doorway gently rang, and she left.

"I hope so." You echoed into the empty room, the distant speaker pouring out music that made you want to immediately concentrate, no matter what the cost, as it made you sway side to side. You continued cutting up the vegetables, filling large pots with different types of soup and pots of rice for the day. You continued taking out chunks of beef, chicken, lobster, and shrimp, placing into glass bowls in the large industrial sinks to defrost. You continued your daily routine, your heart beating to the rhythm of a developing infatuation, your mind daydreaming of figures of paint, and blue.

Your daydreams were shattered by a hand wrapping around your ankle.

A sudden shriek ripped from your mouth, your groggy mind springing into action as you toppled backwards. You landed on the hard linoleum floors, pain ricocheting from your behind up your spine. Underneath the counter was a sleepy mutant, wide eyed and horrified, his blue mask hanging around his neck.

"Sorry!" He exclaimed as he yanked his hand from your ankle, holding his hands up. "I didn't know how to get your attention!" Leonardo practically begged for you to understand as he crawled out from underneath the counter.

"Oh really?!" You gasped out, your heart having shot up into your throat as you swallowed harshly. "You couldn't have been like, ' _heyyy_ Y/n! I'm hiding underneath the counter! How ya doin'!?" The words spilled from your mouth as you waved your arms in the air, before planting your hands against your face.

Leonardo sat next to you, pursing his lips for a moment as he stared down at his calloused green hands. "Yeah that-" He sighed and looked over at you with a small smile. "I guess I should've done that." He sheepishly laughed. How dare he laugh when you had almost died right then on the spot!

You took a few deep breaths as you dragged the palms of your hands onto your heated cheeks, calming down with his presence. You were fine. It hadn't been a stick figure latching onto your leg and ripping out a chunk of your flesh with it's little flat mouth. You were absolutely, positively, fine. You reached over and gently punched his broad strong shoulder- bad idea, because now your knuckles ached. "You're a dork." You huffed, grabbing onto the counter as you pulled yourself up.

Leonardo bent his leg as he gently rested his chin onto his knee, hugging his calf with his bandaged up arms. "I know." He spoke softly, a small smile on his lips as his inflamed left eye seemed to have calmed down during the night, the swelling having lessened. "But so are you." He retorted as he stood up with a groan, planting his hands on his side as he stretched with a yawn.

You gasped loudly, placing a hand on your chest as you slowly turned to face him. "Excuse me, sir. You don't know me like that!" You huffed as you snatched up the knife that you had left on the counter, and began to slice the defrosted beef into thin slices.

"Anyone who threatens a potential criminal with a broom is a dork in my book, dork." Smirked Leonardo, as he propped his elbow onto the counter, cupping the side of his face in his hand.

"Alright buddy, I'm wielding a knife in my hand right now, wanna see how much of a dork I really am?" You countered with all seriousness, though a smile was fighting for control on your trembling lips. You could feel the laughter bubbling in your chest but refused to; you wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Leonardo glanced down at the knife that you wielded, straightening as he cleared his throat. In a few mere seconds, he had lashed his hand out and easily dislodged the tool from your hand. He tossed it into the air as it flipped, before snatching up the blade and pointing it at you.

You guffawed loudly at how quickly it had happened, glancing down at your empty hand and then at the blade. "Oh my gosh-" You whispered, a slow grin spreading on your lips. "That's so cool!" You giddily spoke, clasping your hands together in giddiness.

Leonardo let out a laugh as he took a respectful bow, handing over the blade back to you. "Thank you, thank you, that took me two years to master. Lots of sliced up hands and crying." He chuckled as he began to nervously tug at the mask around his neck.

You gave him a smile as you held the knife in your hand, admiring it, and quietly debating whether to copy him. Better not. The knife would probably end up lodged in your skull, if you were lucky enough.

A pleasant silence fell between the two of you as you kept on cooking, as he quietly stood by admiring your organized chaos. You knew where everything was located, what cooked in every covered pot and pan, making sure that nothing burned or over cooked. It was amazing. He could barely handle boiling a pot before the water overflowed and scalded him.

"What were you doing under the counter, anyway?" You eventually asked, taking the lid off of a pot, as steam overflowed and attacked your face. You were unnerved by the heat as you shoveled a few spoonfuls of rice into a small bowl and a much larger one. You grabbed the pan near it and it's wooden spoon, ladling a soy sauce, mushroom, and green onion sauce filled with sesame seeds over the rice, which quickly absorbed the liquid.

"I was sleeping." Leonardo said, giving one a one armed shrug as he took the large bowl that you practically shoved into his face. "Thank you." He nodded, dipping the spoon into the bowl of seasoned rice and taking a bite.

You froze, your spoon halfway to your mouth, arching an eyebrow. "You- I thought you went back home!" You practically cried out in shock. You caught yourself, clearing your throat in embarrassment at your outburst. "You should've told us, you could've stayed over at our apartment, y'know. You're always welcome." You spoke a lot quieter now, before you looked up and kept on talking, getting worked up all over again. "And like, it must've been so uncomfortable to sleep underneath the counter! I'm sure you were cold too!"

Leonardo tried to get a word in but he was talked over by your developing hysteria.

"I mean- Murakami is in the apartment above us; he could've accommodated you!" You dug your nails of one hand into your scalp, as you waved the bowl of rice around with the other.

"Y/n." His voice was calm and peaceful, but it somehow commanded enough power to make you go silent and cuddle the wooden bowl to your chest. "It's fine, trust me. I didn't want to go home, alright?" He sighed as he poked around at his rice, a frown growing on his lips. "I mean, I was already exhausted from whatever attacked me that I just..." He waved the small spoon around in the air. "Passed out."

You snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow. "Underneath the kitchen counter?" You asked, trying to sound as nice as possible though your words came off differently. You nibbled on a bit of rice, glaring at the side of the counter as if you were berating yourself internally.

"Yeah." Leonardo chuckled, as if he were realizing what an unfortunate place he had spent his night, as he took another delicate bite of rice. "Underneath the kitchen counter."

* * *

"Is this all you need? There's more in the pantry." Leonardo asked, pushing open the metal pantry door with his uninjured shoulder, clutching a wooden crate in his hands. It was filled with vegetables carefully packaged away in portions of plastic, as he set it onto the already crammed countertop, alongside other boxes. He patted the crate gently, turning to look over at you.

"Um... I think so." You began, snapping off the temperature dials of the oven, covering up the pots and pans to keep the food warm. "When Mura shows up, he might ask for more for dinner service. That's when it gets pretty busy." You explained, moving over to stand by the mutant as you rummaged through the crates, grabbing plastic bags and wrapped up vegetables.

He nodded and stood by dutifully, holding his hands behind his back as he took a step backward to give you some space. He watched with interest as, without a written list of what you needed to prepare, you grabbed what was needed, moving back and forth between the crates and the large cutting board of yours. It had your name written in sharpie up in the corner too.

"How long have you been working here? I used to come here all the time, and I think I would've remembered you." He smiled slightly, leaning his carapace against the counter behind him, holding a large soda dispenser that had been cleaned the night before by Yaki.

You snorted with a small smile of your own, sniffing a radish wearily as you scraped your gloved finger across a patch of dirt. "Nah, I blend in too easily." You flashed him a grin over your shoulder, as you turned around, walking over to him, beside the small sink against the counter and a fridge. "But, um." You said, trying to collect your thoughts as you flipped the lever of the water, scrubbing at the radish. "I moved here in... 2017, and Mura hired me like, two months later. I was trained first for a while, though. He told me that he was used to working alone, so it took a long time for him to trust me in the kitchen." You snickered softly, thinking back to those fond memories.

"Did you ever give him a reason not to?" He wondered out loud, looking at you in expectation of his question being answer. You thought for a few moments, swaying your head side to side, before you came up with one.

"Well..." You inhaled deeply, looking him dead in the eye. "I, Y/n L/n, once confused teriyaki sauce with soy sauce." You confessed solemnly, pressing a drenched hand against your chest

"... No..." Leo whispered in horror, and you weren't sure if he was just teasing or entirely serious. He was actually covering his mouth with his eyes wide, even his black eye widening a bit too.

"Oh, I know. I'm pretty sure the poor kid who ended up eating my noodles ended up throwing it up immediately..." You grimaced, thinking back to that day. That kid has thrown the biggest temper tantrum you had seen, and the mother had acted as if you had fed the child something that they were allergic to. That had been a major embarrassment to the business, especially since you were new and people had specifically asked for Murakami to only cook their food.

"How do you get those two things confused?!" He exclaimed, placing his hands on the side of his head. His eyes were wide and you wondered if you had actually committed a crime. Murakami had just treated it like a minor inconvenience.

"They had similar bottles, dude!" You laughed, your hand hovering over your mouth in embarrassment.

"You didn't taste it at all?" He guffawed in what seemed to be genuine horror, pressing the palm of his hand against his cheek. "That's a fireable offense!" He teased.

You rolled your eyes at this new dramatic side of himself, shaking your head with a chuckle. "I was never taught to taste when I was little. My nanny used to just season things, and if it was salty you never said anything unless she got mad and threatened to not cook." You smiled, shutting off the tap as you waved the radish around, waving off the water.

He tilted his head, his foot propped up against the wall of the counter behind him. "You had a nanny?"

"Oh... yeah." You forget that you had grown up privileged, and not everyone shared your experiences. It didn't help that you had been homeschooled for many years. "My mom, she was a politician, and she knew she wouldn't be able to take care of me. She didn't want to lose any sleep after nursing or cleaning after a baby, so she hired my nanny." You held no regret or resent against your mom for that decision, especially if you thought about how you would've turned out if your mom was more... hands on.

"Huh. I used to think that was just something you saw on tv." He spoke as he looked away, staring ahead towards the dining area of the restaurant.

"Yeah, it's not that common, really. Especially my kind of nanny, not to brag." You grinned over at him, bumping your shoulder against his as he snorted and rolled his eyes. "She was supposed to be hired until I was like, five, but I got so attached to her that my mom didn't bother."

"Was she like your mom then?" He wondered out loud, looking at you inquiringly, tilting his head as his eyes were filled with interest. He wanted to learn about you, craving information almost as much as he craved vegetable soup.

"Oh, definitely." You laughed. "She used to help me with homework, she would drive me to school, take me grocery shopping, to the library. She'd even discipline me if I was stupid." You grinned as your scratched at your jaw, shrugging slightly. "Which happened to be most of the time."

"You talk about her in the past tense. Is she...?" He abruptly stopped speaking, an unknown emotion overcoming him as he looked away from you and down at the ground. He rubbed his hands along his forearms, silently.

"Oh, no, she's still alive. She's not that much older than my mom. My mom just forced her to change her number, and then refused to give it to me. Threatened my dad real good too. My family life is just... a mess." You let out a harsh laugh, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the kitchen sink. None of you spoke for a long time.

"I'm sorry." His voice caught you off guard, almost emotional in its path. His empathy was extraordinary, as if he had his heart on his sleeve.

"Hey, don't apologize dude, it's not your fault." You spoke gently, looking over at him.. You never understood those types of apologies. Maybe it was because they never knew what to say. Though, with the way he looked at you, he seemed to be more sorry that it had happened to you. Like you didn't deserve it. You quickly looked away and continued with what you had to say. "It's just something I carry, y'know? I'm sure you have something that you carry... too." You glanced down at his folded arms for a few lingering seconds and looked away in silence.

"Don't we all." He sighed, staring off towards the front of the restaurant, it's blinds pulled tightly shut just to make sure no one would be able to peek through at the mutant. 

After a few moments, you pushed yourself off the counter, placing the radish on the counter near the cutting board. You moved towards the series of crates leaned up neatly near one another, rummaging around until you pulled out a cucumber. You eyed it for a moment, before you chuckled softly. "You know..." You began, turning around still looking at the cucumber in your hand with a smile. "It kinda looks like you." You held up the vegetable, closing your left eye to test out the resemblance. "Yup. Just enough green." You grinned cheekily.

"Well..." He began, walking forward as he took the cucumber, staring at it. He pressed the vegetable against his arm, eyed the two colors that couldn't be more different, and nodded. "I guess he's my kid now."

You guffawed. "Leo, it's not that serious." You said with a bit of surprise, really hoping that he wasn't serious. You were ninety nine percent sure he was a turtle, after all. Who knew, maybe he did have some sort of vegetable in his DNA. You didn't know how any this worked!

"Oh, yes it is." Leo said in all seriousness, nodding his head slowly as he held up the vegetable to admire it in the light. "It's not like I see someone with my skin color everyday." A smile twitched as his lips before he cleared his throat, looking off into the distance like a great leader.

"Leo.... I need to cook it." You spoke slowly, approaching him with your hands raised by your head.

"Not Leo Jr...." He whispered in horror, holding the vegetable to his chest as if it were a mere baby. He backed away slowly, his eyes wide.

"Leo..." You held out your hand. "Hand me the cucumber." You begged with pleading eyes. Okay, now maybe you were getting too into it, but this was the most fun you had had in awhile. You let it slide. You were eighteen, there would always be time to act like a boring adult.

"No." He hissed, looking away.

"Leo, he's going to a better place now." You attempted to coax him.

"No!" He declared loudly, sticking a finger in the air. Wait... ~~wasn’t that his middle finger.~~ “I will lay down my LIFE for this cucumber!"

The both of you stared at one another before exploding into laughter. Tears pricked at your eyes as you covered your face, bending in half, feeling your stomach hurt by how long it took for you to calm down. Leo wasn't any better, wiping away at a stray tear as he gripped the counter, coughing loudly.

"Okay old man." You snickered, sighing as you straightened, gently smacking your hands against your face. "I'm serious though. Gimme." You held out your hand patiently with a smile, rocking back and forth on the soles of your feet.

"Who said I'm not serious either?" He questioned in a dark voice, great overly dramatic offense written across his features.

You stared in silence and slowly grabbed the knife on the counter behind you.

He went to grab at the air over his shoulder, before looking confused, and a bit panicked. Quickly, he recovered and grabbed a knife from the belt around his waist. You pointed your weapons at each other, delighting you with the fact that you seemed to be manifesting the Spider-Man meme.

"Don't talk to _me_ or my son ever again." He whispered in a warning, pointing the knife right at your nose.

"Leo, that is a cucumber that I need to cook!" You cried out, waving your arm around in a whirlwind. You accidentally smacked your fingers against the counter and whined, sticking it in your mouth as you tried to chew away the pain.

Leonardo tossed his head dramatically, sticking his dagger into the air. "Over my dead body!" He boomed with great power and determination, eyes ablaze. 

"Then so _be_ it!" You shrieked and rushed forward with the kitchen knife. You promptly stopped and, maintaining eye contact with an eye widening Leonardo, poked the tip of your chef's knife into the cucumber's squishy skin.

Leonardo inhaled deeply and let out a dramatic shriek. You had to give it to him, he was a great actor.

It was at that moment that Yaki and Isidore walked in chattering about the newest nature documentary on Netflix. Together, they froze in their steps at the scene before them. The awkward group took turns staring at one another. There was a moment of silence. Yaki tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips as she took a long dragged out drink of her coffee, exhaling loudly, smacking her lips. "Nice." She said as she linked her arm with Isidore; who seemed to stare deep into the souls of both you and Leonardo, as they strutted off into the pantry.

now's my chance! Your brain exclaimed, as you snatched the cucumber from his hand, slamming it against the counter, and decapitated it.

Leonardo cried out as if he had been mortally wounded, clutching at his heart as he fell to his knees. He looked up at you with true anger in his eye, made even more terrifying by the other that was entirely black and puffy, giving him the appearance of having been fought in battle. "You'll pay for this..." He snarled, before pursing his lips shut less he burst out into uncontrollable laughter once again.

You took a few steps back, a grin growing on your face. "Gotta catch me first!"

"Deal." He grinned widely and began to scramble wildly to his feet. You let out a playful shriek and ran out of the kitchen, laughing with Leonardo as he chased you around the noodle shop.

* * *

You and Leonardo stood next to one another as you both shared the counter, flour dusting the wood, kneading the dough in unison. The stickiness of the wet flour stuck to the palms of your hands, hardening, clumping up together onto both skin. The dough would be used for making fresh noodles, dumplings, and pizza gyoza, which really was one of the most popular items on the menu, right next to Mura's vegetable soup. The raw vegetables that the two of you had sliced up throughout the last hour would be scrapped into bowls that would be used throughout the day, making it much easier for Murakami to cook, without the worry of accidentally slicing his hand. It had been a common injury before he had decided to hire employees, and yet his hands were still scarred. Sure, he could easily slice a number of vegetables in a matter of seconds, but even the best still made mistakes.

You both kept on making jokes, both pairs of opposite shoulders brushing along, swaying to the non Mario Kart songs, old school spanish music that kept on playing throughout the restaurant. Isidore went around the dining room with a cardboard box hefted onto his hip, his thin arm practically shaking with the effort of holding it aloft. His other hand carefully placed utensils with their napkins at each table, adjusting the salt and pepper shakers along with it's soy sauce companions. Yaki went back and forth from the pantry to the kitchen, dropping off piles of plates, bowls, and a number of utensils and serving trays into the under counter shelves

The back door swung open as Murakami walked in with his white cane covered in designs of oil paint, a frown on his lips, bushy black eyebrows narrowed behind his circular tinted glasses. He placed the tools wrist strap against a hook near his apron. He took up the purple protective garment that was always on the hook near the doorway, tying it on as he easily navigated the small hallway into the pantry. "Sukiyaki." He began, knowing fully well it was her due to the chaotic aura that she seemed to have surrounding her at all times.

Yaki looked up from scrubbing angrily at a small stain stuck on a plate, a slow grin spreading over her features. "Hey Mura! What's good?" She questioned, straightening as she let the plate slide from her fingertips into the large industrial sink with a loud clatter.

"Nothing is good at the moment. We have a problem." The words seemed ominous coming from the usually jolly restaurant owner, who would have memes translated into Braille by Yaki. He usually spent long minutes reading the jokes, chuckling loudly to himself in his office, and continuing the cycle. Then, he would finish up by plastering the printed jokes onto the cork board in the back hallway for the delivery boys to read and enjoy.

Yaki nodded with a frown, down casting her eyes to the floor as she exhaled. The last time she had heard those words, they both had almost been killed. She straightened as she moved into the kitchen with Murakami close behind her, making sure that she held the door open for him.

"Murakami!" You cried, walking over to give him a daughterly peck on the cheek as he gave you a warm smile in return.

"Good morning Y/n." He nodded towards the mutant eating a piece of raw okra with bliss written across his face. "Leonardo."

Leonardo made a small choking noise as a hello, before turning red with embarrassment. He cleared his throat and made a small respectful bow back. "Good morning Murakami-San." He spoke solemnly, staring at the floor with shame written across his face, even if he knew very well that the man couldn't have seen the face he was making.

"Y/n." Began the older man, placing a calloused hand onto your shoulder. "You placed the trash in the dumpster, correct?" His voice seemed unsure, as if it was wrong that he was even asking you such a question.

Your eyes narrowed, nodding slowly as the memories of the night before flooded back. Memories that you had already tried your best to forget. how could I forget that night, fam? Your poor tortured mind lamented. "Uh, yeah. Of course." You answered back uneasily, feeling the ache and strain that your limbs had undergone that night flowing back.

"Hm." Hummed Murakami, letting his hand drop from the teenagers shoulder. "Something got into the trash and tore the bags apart. There is garbage all over the alleyway. I even had a needle become stuck in my shoe." He spoke calmly, for someone who could have easily had caught a disease.

You opened your mouth and closed it as your brain lept into panic mode. You couldn't just... tell them. They wouldn't believe you, they would simply laugh in your face, and then you lose all their trust. You respected them too much to lie, but you were too fearful to tell them the truth. "Um. Maybe they were rats..?" You gave him a one armed shrug. "You know? They're always like, tearing up the bags to eat what's left of the scraps?" You offered up weakly, cringing slightly as you rubbed your forearm.

Murakami simply nodded in agreement, though he was not entirely convinced. He may have been blind, but he could tell something was odd. He gently patted your shoulder, but didn't say anything else.

"I'll go clean it up, Mr. Murakami." Isidore perked up, standing next to Yaki who had begun to boredly braid the strands of his long platinum blond hair. He still wore the same sea green jacket, and they still had the remnants of blood splatters that hadn't been fully scrubbed out all the way.

Murakami nodded once more, not saying anything else. He was a man of few words, having spent almost forty years working as a loner, even in his personal life. He moved forward, clamping his hand firmly on Leonardo's shoulder as he gave him a nod, before focusing on the meals he had to finish preparing.

You could feel Leonardo's eyes boring into the back of your head as Yaki moved back into the pantry with Isidore, chattering over what would go down in the Avengers finale of Endgame, the movie coming out in only six days. You pushed strands of hair out of your face as you cleared your throat, picking up a few dirty knives and a cutting board, and moving into the pantry to clean. You bumped the door open as Leonardo followed closely behind, silent, standing there with his arms crossed, as the door swung in it's doorway.

 _he's going to ask you, stupid. what are you going to say, huh?_ You shook your head swiftly, pursing your lips as you turned on the tap, your gaze flicking behind you rapidly. You pushed the sleeves of your sweater up your forearms as you began to smooth the wet sponge across the wooden cutting board. _nothing_ , you retorted. _i'm not going to tell him anything. no matter how much he looks at me with those eyes._

"You know, I never asked what you were doing, before I showed up." He began, moving towards the metal table that, hours before, he had laid upon, beaten and bruised. His hand absentmindedly moved towards his bandaged left shoulder, his slightly swollen eye peeking through with his blue iris. The table was covered with boxes of vegetables and plates, as if nothing had happened the night before.

"It's just _rats_ , Leo. Okay?" You snapped, sending him a look before continuing your focus on your cleaning. Sure, your voice was a bit more stern than you would have liked, but you weren't ready to explain anything. Especially not to him. Especially not to the man who may have been attacked by the same little creatures that had begun their torment on you. Rats were more believable than blood thirsty stick figures, anyway.

Leonardo sent you a look, his shoulders stiffening up as the lines around his mouth became ever more evident with his frowned, nodding slowly. "Okay Y/n." He gazed upon you with his hypnotizing eye. "I trust you." He let out a sigh as he kept his gaze on you for a few long moments, before turning around and placing his focus against the table, hands planted onto the metal as he glared at his feet.

You wanted to beg Leonardo that he shouldn't.

You wanted to confess to him on how that was a dumb move. To put it simply, you weren't someone worth trusting. You were keeping a dangerous piece of vital information from him, the vigilante, New York's hidden protector. You were much too spastic to be trusted, much too sick in the head to have the weight of a persons confidence placed onto your breakable shoulders. ' _please don't trust me_ ,' you yearned to warn him, or at least say anything, ' _you'll regret it_.'

There was a sudden burst of angry voices that exploded from the adjoining door that led towards the small back hallway. The heads of both you and Leo snapped over to stare at the door as you two shared a glance that lasted a split second, before you moved. Leonardo reached the door first, pushing it open with his hand. You ducked your head underneath his arm, stepping into the hallway that led towards the back alleyway.

Isidore was screaming at Yaki. His pale blond hair a halo around his face, blue veins pounding against his temples, threatening to explode. Hands clutching a slightly filled black trash bag, the tendons in his neck stretching out as spittle flew from his mouth into the face of a silently enraged Yaki.

Her fists were clenched, her nails digging angry red crescents into the palms of her dark hands. Her caramel brown cheeks were tinted red as she simply stared him down, towering over the young teen. The back door was swung open, allowing the natural sunlight to leak into the room. The trash was seen scattered all over the alleyway- as if something had gone through and simply tossed it around.

You and Leonardo walked in, and immediately hurried back into the pantry. The door swished behind the both of you, peering through the circular window so as to not alert anyone. You felt that if you just happened to make your presence known, he would probably turn on you. Better safe than sorry.

"I don't need them!" He shrieked, stomping his foot, the sound of his sneaker slapping against the plastic floor. He dropped the bag and dug his fingers into his scalp, shaking his head side to side violently. "I don't need them! I don't need them!" He shouted over and over again, as if he was a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Yaki's tone of voice was different on the other hand, calm, strained, overly gentle as if she were forcing herself to be understanding. "Yes, you do. You need to take your medicine. We've already went over this, Isidore." She spoke slowly, pushing her fist into her hand to keep her hands busy and to keep from grabbing onto him, or else his senses would be overloaded and he became more aggressive.

Murakami walked into the pantry and stood by Leonardo, twisting a dirty grey rag in between his hands. He seemed sad. His lips were firmly set into a frown. He didn't like where this was going.

The mutant on the other hand was surprised at how much this argument reminded him of his brothers, ones that he hadn't heard from in over eleven hours. Yaki seemed as calm but silently enraged as Donatello, holding an explosive temper back. Isidore on the other hand was identical to Raphael. Yelling and ready to fight.

"You massaged your temples as the incessant screaming from Isidore began to take a toll on your poor, exhausted, anxiety ridden mind. Yaki sent you a look through the window that only said, i might kill this kid, and you were already sure she knew why. Isidore hated taking his medicine for his Asbergers, risperidone, you remembered it being called. An antipsychotic drug that was supposed to keep him from having these outbursts, ones that he rarely meant and always ended up regretting. He had a habit of leaving his medicine behind at home, crammed inside a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, so that he wouldn't be forced to take his pills at school or at work. But that simply made him a danger to anyone he came into contact with. To his friends, his family, and the customer.

"There's nothing wrong with me! I'm totally okay! I don't need to take that- that crap!" Isidore was hyperventilating by now, his hands twitching at a rapid pace, sunken in bloodshot eyes flickering back and forth uneasily. "It- it makes me wanna throw up! And- and I can't sleep at all, it's poison!" He exclaimed, panic overtaking him as he began to chew at the peeling raw skin around his cuticles, staring at Yaki's shoes and not making eye contact at all.

"Isi." Yaki began after a few silent moments, as she smoothed her yellow stained hands across her jeans. "Everyone has something wrong with them, but that's okay.." Her voice was gentle as she used a common nickname on the fourteen year old, but her entire demeanor was awkward. As if she weren't the sort of type to give a speech about how medicine is the best thing ever and how you'll feel better once you take it. Because she knew how the side effects could change you, how they could be worse than the mental illness. How sometimes, pills just didn't do a thing. "I mean, I'm... well, I have body dysmorphia." She confessed, looking up to stare at your shocked features in the window, as you rapidly tapped Leo's shoulder in surprise. Not in your entire friendship had this been confessed to you. Now it was time for you to google it and how to support your friend.

Her eyebrows narrowed, arms crossed over her chest as she looked down at the kid. "And you know what? I never got help for it. I still cut my hair, wear weird clothes, use a stupid binder instead of a bra; the whole shebang. And you know what? None of that ever worked. I'm still not okay, and I don't want you to suffer from something that you can get help for. Be like me, but don't be stupid like me." She exhaled and looked up, feeling the tension in the room make her feel worse. "And y'know, everyone else has something up with them. Like, Murakami's blind." Murakami snorted loudly, shaking his head at such an obvious statement. "Y/n here is a giant anxiety kid, and Leo is... a teenage mutant ninja turtle." She snickered, trying to lift the mood.

Isi smiled for a split second before glaring at the linoleum floor.

"In that order." She smiled, gently pressing the knuckles of her fist against his cheekbone. "But that's okay, because there are things we can do to accept what we are, and to make ourselves better. But that means that you need to eat pills. It's not just for you, it's for everyone else." Yaki smiled, gently brushing her fingers through the platinum blond hair that plastered to his sweaty forehead.

Isidore nodded once, his eyes narrowed as he tapped his fingers against his sides, sighing. "It just, makes me feel sick, you know?" He mumbled, quickly brushing his nose on the back of his sleeve with a loud sniff.

"Wellll," You began, slowly pushing open the pantry door and poking your head around. "If you're feeling sick, we'll let you take a break, alright?" You glanced over at Murakami for some backup, eyes wide as you nodded over at Isidore, as if he could sense your desperation somehow.

Murakami simply nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, you may eat as many dumplings as you wish." He loudly spoke, especially since he had no idea if the kid in question could hear him from where he stood.

Isidore immediately perked up at the chance for a bowl of hot dumplings as he smoothed down his white rugged shirt, "Okay. I can work with that." His violent episode had ended as quickly as it had begun. He cleared his throat as he linked his arm with Yaki, the two quietly moving towards the pantry as they moved towards the entrance of the restaurant. Presumably to go back to his apartment and retrieve his medicine.

"Murakami followed them, leaving both you and Leonardo, alone. You picked up the abandoned trash bag in silence, trying your best to ignore the large hole that the stick figure had left behind the night before. You could feel him staring at you again, and it annoyed you, so much. How could a person with a swollen eye, hold so much power in his gaze? It was as if you could feel the blue of his irises crawling up along your spine.

"Anxiety, huh?" He began slowly, unsure if he was allowed to ask such a sensitive question. He followed after you as you moved through the doorway, the chaotic noise from the nearby street filling their ears. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, broad shoulder pressed up against the scratched wooden frame as he watched.

You nodded, popping your lips as you bent over and scooped up a handful of shredded newspapers, thrusting the mess into the bag. "Yup." You hummed, trying to focus on cleaning up the mess. He nodded slowly, though you didn't bother looking back.

Minutes passed, with you were handing over trash bags that Leonardo would tie up in the safety of his hiding place, easily tossing them into the garbage bin. 'he could've been so useful last night,' grumbled your irritated limbs as you hefted up the trash cans, rolling them towards the wall upright. You admired his strength and his skill, how each twenty five pound bag was simply tossed over his shoulder and nimbly landed onto the pile. You couldn't help but smile, mostly in relief that your muscles wouldn't have to suffer another bout of soreness.

Soon enough, the alleyway had been cleared, as Leonardo stood in the doorway, awaiting your return. He fidgeted with the dirtied bandages on the palms of his hands that he would have to soon change. You made a motion with your hand that you were almost finished, as he responded with a nod. He kept a close eye on you as you quickly scurried over to the far right corner of the alleyway. There was one trash can collapsed onto its side, pieces of cardboard and water stained paper at its mouth.

There were white circles of splattered paint tracking along its side. Stick figure tracks. Funny how you could learn so fast about a new, blood thirsty species. You carefully moved towards the trash can, your hands gripping the metal handlebars as you hefted it upright.

Something inside the trash can moved.

You would have stabbed yourself with one of the discarded heroin needles that was lying around in one of the garbage bags, if the noise had sounded like scratching paper. Instead, it sounded like metal.

Your curiosity got the better of you, as you inhaled deeply, and peered inside the trash can. It was mostly empty, the trash that had once been inside mostly likely scattered and ripped apart by the stick figures. You watched as the rays of sunlight set pieces of silver broken metal aglow. It was obvious to what they were, easily recognizable with the Japanese lettering across its blue handles, the metal as thin as a piece of paper.

Pieces of katana's.

Your breath hitched as you hurriedly flipped the trash can upside down, shattered metal spilling onto the floor with two blue handles tumbling along. You looked up with a strained broken smile as you set the trash can down, Leonardo's face was one of horror as he gripped the doorway tightly, the wood groaning in his hold.

"I... Found your swords?" You winced, rubbing the back of your neck as Leonardo hurried over, falling to his knees as he carefully took up the broken pieces of his beloved katanas into the palms of his hands. He only stared in silence, turbulent emotions flashing by his eye. His hands shook as he curled his palm around the metal, not caring if it cut through his skin. He was used to it.

"My... Father gave me these katanas when I was young. It signified that he was proud of me, and that was capable of re-responsibility." His voice cracked as he took up the two blue handles, gripping them tightly. His knuckles went white as he eyed the snapped off pieces of metal attached to the handles, before squeezing his eyes shut, and pressing the knuckles that gripped the handles of his former weapon against his forehead. There was no way they could be saved. They were broken; beyond fixing. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed harshly.

You quietly crouched onto the floor, placing a hand on Leonardo's forearm as you stared at the katana pieces, a grim look upon your features. "I'm sorry, Leo." You muttered, pressing the side of your head against his strong arm. "It must've been the thing that attacked you that..." You sighed deeply. "Did this. I'm sorry you can't remember, I'm so sorry." You murmured, glancing up at him as he stared with an empty gaze at the pieces.

Leonardo stayed silent. He dropped the handles as they clattered against the dirty concrete, his shaking hand reaching out for a small piece of crumpled up paper amongst the pieces.

There, written out with cut out magazine letters of differing sizes and shapes, was a threat that almost seemed comical. The breaths of the two, both hitched as they read the words. Your heart practically stopped in horror.

Leonardo's broken hoarse voice read it out, anger dangerously close to filling his usually calm tone. "Go away... sinner?" He crushed the paper in his hand as he looked over at you, confusion riddling his face. He seemed to look at you for an answer, comfort, some sort of explanation. You were pained that you could offer nothing of the sort.

You stared back, wide eyed, lips pursed. Your entire body seemed to be frozen, anxiety crawling up your throat and digging its claws into your mouth, refusing a chance for you to speak. Your hand reached to clutch at his, your fingers intertwined with his, your grips tight and desperate.

"I'm so sorry, Leo." You didn't know what to say and it was stupid. Here his heart was breaking, and all you could do to comfort him was to use your words.

_it's all my fault... isn't it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave Kudos if you liked the story so far! See you in the next chapter!（*￣∇￣*）


	5. my life flashed before my eyes and it was horrible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaki stood there, staring at the entrance door smeared with a bloodied hand print.
> 
> Isidore calmly hobbled over, swinging a spray bottle of bleach, humming a ditty as he began to smear the blood all over the glass with his dry rag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mentions of child abuse.

The restaurant had opened an hour ago, and only a few regulars had managed to sit down and eat their usual meals. Some ate unholy amounts of sushi, some had slurped down two large portions of vegetable soup and were moving onto their third, others had their cheeks stuffed with dumplings, and a few simply sipped their teas of lemonade and honey. The dining room was mostly silent, most of the customers reading newspapers or flicking along social media on their phone, a few sleeping children drooling against the wooden tables. The rush of taxi's, trucks, and cars storming along the streets with an incessant roar was heard whenever the entrance opened and the small bell rang. Throats were cleared, shoes squeaked against the linoleum floors, toddlers sneezed, babies yawned, teenagers rubbed their eyelids and craved death, chairs screeched as they were pushed forward or backwards, and steam sizzled from boiling leaking pots on burning stoves.

You took in the scene before you at your place at the computer, flickering sad green buttons on the screen that was used as a cashier, before quietly ducking your head to take a glance at a sulking mutant turtle. Wrapped up like a depressed burrito with a sea green quilt that matched nicely with his skin, a pillow pressed up against his shell and the wall of the counter. It would've been amusing without context, but seeing the fallen look on his features only made your heart ache even more. The guilt ate away at your soul, leaving only an empty space in your chest. You could feel the confession in your throat, as if you simply opened your mouth the truth would easily blurt out.

The twin handles and pieces of his katanas were wrapped up in a grey rag. A coffin for the pieces that made Leo, well, _Leo_. He didn't notice you as you crouched onto your knees, hands gripping the counter of the cashier; he just stared at the pieces of metal. His gaze blank and empty.

"Do..." Your voice was hesitant as you took a small pause. "You need a distraction?" You questioned with a whisper, your voice still seeming so loud underneath the counter. You could never understand the pain of losing such an intimate part of life. It wasn't like you had a locket that a boyfriend had given you, or a promise ring from your parents. Nothing in your room was of any personal or emotional significance. You had left all those behind in the house of your family that you had abandoned. So no, you couldn't relate, but you could at _least_ try to understand. It was the least you could do for him.

Leonardo's head lolled over as his cheek rested against his shoulder, his free hand snaking to rub along the mask that hung around his neck. He exhaled and nodded slowly. "Desperately." He closed his eyes and allowed the back of his head to bonk against the wooden wall underneath the counter.

You nodded slowly, eyes trailing to the linoleum floor as you lowered yourself into a seated position, tucking your white sneakered shoes underneath yourself. You planted your hands onto your thighs as you eyed him for a brief moment.

His breathing was erratic as if he was trying to hold back a panic attack, as if he was trying to control it. His hands clenching and unclenching as the rag drizzled with broken metal pieces laid in his lap, his knees bent as his feet laid flat against the counter wall.

You felt a lump of pity well up in your throat. You knew how difficult it could be to tame an onslaught of anxiety; you yourself had suffered for six years and it still didn't get easier. You were _sure_ that he was focusing on the trauma he felt at the moment, at the disappointment and pain twisting along his organs.

"Sorry, I-" gasped out Leonardo, as if the words were causing him more pain than his tormented self inflicted thoughts, his hands gently pawing at the linoleum floors below him. "It's so frustrating that I can't remember-" He let out a weak groan of masked pain as he kneaded his eyes with the knuckles of his bandaged hands. "And that maybe- just _maybe_ \- it's my fault? That _this_ -" he motioned to the sad lump of rag in the corner. "Is _my_ fault?" He shuddered, covering his face with his hands. "He would be so... _disappointed_ in me." His voice drifted off into a gentle weak whisper, his thoughts tormented and shaken with the look his father used to give him. When he used to smack Mikey when he thought his father wasn't looking, or whenever he would give into Raphael's teasing and start wrestling with his younger brother. _That_ one look.

You pursed your lips as you averted your eyes from his dispirited display of pent up guilt. You didn't know what it was like to lose someone close in death. Your small town had only lost one person recently, a teenager to a drug overdose, but you had _never_ liked him. He used to follow you home when you were little, and once cornered you in the women's church bathroom and had groped you violently, whispering disgusting sweet nothings into your innocent ears. You couldn't help but smile with relief during his funeral.

You stood up slowly, your heart practically shattering as he gazed upon you with some sort of panic, as if you were abandoning him in his time of need. Your feet moved through instinct, though your mind was clouded and drummed with incessant anxiety. Before you knew it, you had moved through the line kitchen, through the pantry where Isidore nursed a cup of tea to ease his nausea, a side effect of his medication, the Office playing off of Yaki's phone, and into the back hallway, throwing open the door of a locker that the three of them shared. The chipping paint tumbled across your fingertips as you eyed the contents of the small locker. A few little containers of oil paints, a plastic, once clear, paint stained cup filled with paintbrushes of differing sizes and shapes, a small black leather backpack with a few vulgar patches slapped on, a pink cloth backpack, and two green binders with Isidore's handwriting scrawled all over, with lots of peeling torn stickers plastered all over. The walls were stained with bleached gum, scratched off stickers, and graffiti. _So_ much graffiti that it practically burned your innocent retinas.

Your hands reached towards your backpack, the nostalgic hum of your zipper being pulled as you dug your hands into the mess of a backpack. It was crammed with books, a black jacket, three glittery notebooks filled with sketches, and a giant package of Halloween Reese's cups candy that had the price marked down by half. Your fingers curled around the synthetic pastel blue leather of your journal, a white panda pen tucked in between the pages as you pulled it forward, the golden Japanese lettering twinkling in the yellow light of the hallway. You tucked it underneath your arm as you slammed the locker door shut, the metallic ringing echoing across the hallway as you turned the lock and moved towards the pantry.

Leonardo was still underneath the counter, his bandaged hands gripping the ends of his blanket as he burrowed his face into his knees. The balled up rag filled with his broken pieces were pushed off into the corner, sad and abandoned.

"I have something... for you." You whispered as you plopped herself onto the floor near Yaki's long legs. She seemed to be having a casual conversation with one of the more regular patrons, over whether mutants really were roaming the streets at night. Her black sneakers scuffed across the ground as she pinched the corners of the dumpling that she was crafting.

"My katanas welded back together?" His dry voice snapped out with its low tone, his piercing Persian blue eyes peeking through the cracks between his dark green fingers.

You hesitated for a moment, holding your journal to your chest as you cast your gaze towards your lap, frowning as your heart filled up with guilt, punching against your bruised rib cage. The sting of his sarcastic remark burned your eyes but you refused to show him any weakness. He wasn't _himself_ at the moment. He was being consumed by emotions that were difficult to tame. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"I'm-" Leonardo exhaled loudly, guilt staining his eyes as the lines around his mouth expanded with every movement. "I'm sorry." He balled his hands into his lap as his shoulders slouched, his eyes shimmering as he glanced up at you, as if he was desperate to apologize for his reaction, but wished for you to understand his pain. "What did you want to give me?" Then he beamed at you once more, and you knew everything would be alright. The pain of his retort was washed away with the warmth of his smile.

"I wanted to give you... this." You pulled the sky blue notebook from its place pressed up against your chest, your fingertips leaving light indents on the synthetic leather, a small nervous smile quirking up the corners of your peeling lips.

Leonardo gave you a confused glance, his hands reaching up to grab onto the small journal, his hands almost engulfing yours. His palms were scarred with callouses and cuts, the bandages being the only soft material that swiped against your fingers.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you released the journal. You would never forget his touch. And neither would he forget yours.

You stared at him, trying to control the burst of nervous nausea that had appeared at your front door, as he simply smoothed his fingers across the gentle foam like material, the golden thread brushing against his sensitive fingertips. There was a small smile on his lips as he read the golden Japanese lettering, raising his head to gaze upon you. "A journal?" He questioned, his head instinctively tilting to the right.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry as you nodded slowly, wiping your wet hands on the sweater that seemed to absorb your anxiety filled sweat. "Um," You wet her lips quickly, feeling the dry skin almost burn with your saliva. "It's my old drawing notebook. I found it in the back of my closet and thought you could use it, to, you know." You held up your hand, tilting it side to side, before you sighed and allowed your hand to fall onto your thigh, knowing you were making your point difficult to understand. "I was thinking that, maybe, you could write down the events that you remembered that led to this. Maybe it'll help with your amnesia."

Leonardo opened the notebook, nodding slowly as he flipped through the pages. "That's... actually a good idea." A grin grew on his lips as he paused on a page, an intricate, unfinished pencil sketch of Yaki glaring at the person in question. "Plus, I get bonus drawings." He chuckled as he flipped on through, passing doodles, self portraits that made you blush in embarrassment.

One page in particular made Leo pause.

He looked up at you an odd expression on his face as he turned the notebook to allow you to gaze upon the sketch in question. "For someone so talented, do you really need to draw stick figures?" His voice was on the brink of a tease as he bit back a grin, failing miserably.

You reached forward, gripped the page into your slick palm, and ripped it up, balling it up and crushing it between your hands. You were shaking now, the nausea seemed to be poisoning your inner organs. "Weird." Your weak voice strained as you forced a smile at the teenager who saw through lies.

"Yeah," Leonardo tilted his head, closing the notebook. "Weird." His gaze bored into yours as a pounding headache attacked the front of your skull.

Yaki snaked her hand over, her fingertips wrapping around a strand of your hair as she swiftly yanked it. Your head whipped swiftly to the side as you glared up in annoyance at your friend. Your expression soon changed as you saw the stern look on Yaki's usually cocky features, as the adult lowered herself to the ground, her messy thick black eyebrows furrowed.

"We've got trouble." Yaki spoke with a bland undertone, her right hand lifting slowly above towards the counter, twisting around the handle of a vegetable stained chef's knife. She tilted her head side to side, her neck popping as she rolled her shoulders. She stared straight ahead as she brought the knife to her chest, dragging her forefinger along the sharp blade. She nodded towards you she glanced up towards the cashier machine.

The entrance door swung open, as the small bell situated above it rang joyfully. The restaurant grew dead silent as the door slid shut into its frame, silencing the outside noise of life. You took a breath, glancing over at Yaki who seemed to have a plan, before looking over at Leonardo. Big mistake. His expression was grim as he reached over and held your wrist in his strong hand. He shook his head rapidly, lips pursed. Yaki nodded up and down slowly, waving her hand at Leo with a paired up glare. Leonardo glared back, opening his mouth to explain why this was a bad idea, before he was silenced by Yaki flipping him off.

You forced a lopsided smile towards Leonardo, one that screamed ' _if I die, please kill Yaki,_ ' before planting a hand firmly around the edge of the counter, and lifting yourself up. Your spine ached and your ankles groaned in anger, as you made it to your feet. You forced that famous fake employee smile as you smoothed down your apron, Leonardo's name scrawled in tiny neat letters in the corner.

You smelled the purple dragon henchman before you saw him. The reek of booze and body order balled up together, doused with a hint of gasoline, slapped your nose as you tried your best not to scrunch up your face. If he saw your blatant face of disgust, he would easily punt you into the wall.

The six foot three man lumbered along through the restaurant, taking his sweet time to reach the cashier as he seemed to bask in the fear that he drew from the patrons surrounding him. The customers refused to make eye contact with him, simply keeping their heads low and their voices silent. A few pushed away their plates as he passed by, the reek forcing the patrons to quickly lose their appetite. The man of Asian descent walked proudly along, long tendrils of greasy hair curling around his broad, rudely tattooed shoulders.

He arrived at the cashier counter, the patrons that sat on the bar stools hunching over their meals, avoiding eye contact and stiffening. The henchman towered over the poor, melting with anxiety, mistreated employee. You tried not shake like a leaf in the wind as you came into contact with that _smell_ , hints of rotting garbage triggering memories of the night that had only occurred yesterday. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stiffened, as every nerve along your body twisted and shrieked at you to run. Or better yet, crawl under the counter with Leonardo and cuddle into his side for safety. He would protect you. You knew he would.

You inhaled, cursing the breath that you tasted like all the _awful_ smells exhuming off the gang member, as you simply craned your neck upward at the henchman and smiled. "Welcome to Murakami's. How may I help you today?" Your voice wavered at the end as you saw the bulge in his black, ( _blood stained, how lovely_ ), vest. Workplace shooting; you hadn't heard of one of those happening in a while. You could see the patrons staring towards the entrance of the restaurant, their breathing heavy and their eyes flicking from side to side. They all wanted to run but were afraid of being shot in the process.

Purple Dragons simply weren't seen in this part of town, especially at eight thirty in the morning. Most were hung over and passed out in bars during this time, much too incapacitated to actually go out and shake down a small local restaurant. You had never been around whenever any of these so called purple dragons had showed up, trying to shake them down for a 'fee for being on their turf', which just happened to be all of Manhattan. The last time a few had appeared at the restaurant had been around one in the morning, when Yaki and Murakami were closing up the shop and you had been taking the punk that was Isidore, home. Yaki had never told you what happened that night. She had come home deathly silent and quickly went to bed without uttering a single word. You were too polite to get any answers from her.

This one seemed different though. There was an intelligence in his dark eyes that didn't exactly scream dumb henchman.

"Don't play dumb wit me, sweetheart," drawled the purple dragon, hints of a Brooklyn accent seeping into his deep tone.

You would have burst out laughing at his stupid self if it wasn't for the fact that you enjoyed your head being attached to your neck. It seemed that he wasn't as intelligent as you had believed. But he had a gun and you didn't need to be a genius to know how to wield it.

"I'm sorry," You chirped, ever the polite employee, pressing your palms against your thighs as you dug your nails into your denim jeans. "Do you want some of our famous japanese vegetable soup? It's made in house, of course not _my_ house, but, you know, here..." You grimaced at how awkward you stumbled through your carefully planned out script towards the end. You really had to work on your people skills. Funny how the mind wanders when it is so close to _death_.

He slammed his monstrous hand onto the counter, causing the twenty pound cashier computer to leap an inch off the counter. A hysterical laugh spilled out of your mouth as you fought back sudden panicked tears from spilling forth from your burning eyes. ' _oh boy oh boy oh boy this is how I die.'_ "Mo-Money?" Your hoarse voice squeaked out. You hasn't been expecting that. Maybe just a bit of banter and being terrified half to death. You began to quietly curse Yaki and Leo under your shaking breath for simply congregating around your feet and not doing anything. What was _the plan?!_

Your eyesight blurred as your mind quickly became clouded. Everything around you seemed to slow down as you watched this giant of a man reach out for you, his face one of incompetent rage. ' _Well, this is it_ ,' you concluded as your mind made preparations for your impending death. ' _hey, maybe my funeral will be nice.'_

Yaki sprang to her feet, a smile across her features as she wielded the chefs knife, and brought it down, slamming it through the Purple Dragons hand. There was a silence as the henchman and you stared at the hand pinned to the wooden counter, a pool of blood snaking from the deep wound, staining the timber fixture.

" _Hiiii_ , Amani." Purred Yaki, her almond reddish brown eyes dangerous slits as she stared upon the man, her free hand gripping the edge of the counter as she gripped the handle of the knife that had gone through the henchman hand.

Amani looked up from his deadened gaze upon the knife protruding through the back of his hand, exiting through his open palm. His jaw was slack, his entire pale face slick with sweat as he shook all over. His eyes flashed with recognition as he seemed to recoil in fear at Yaki's gaze. His large chest billowed in and out, stretching across the leather vest, as his free hand wrapped around his wrist, panicked wheezes escaping the once cocky gang member. "A-" his breath gasped out, the pain of having a knife dug through his hand finally developing. "Adachi-" he whimpered, cowering in fear of her gaze.

Yaki pulled the knife from his hand as a panicked shriek erupted from his mouth, a splatter of blood slapping your shell-shocked features. "That's enough." Her stern voice rang out across the silent restaurant.

Amani simply blubbered, blinded by the pain, turning as he stumbled through the restaurant, shoving past chairs and tables as he burst through the entrance. The patrons of Murakami's restaurant watched the man wail and stumble his way out, before they turned back to their meals, straightened their newspapers and adjusted their outfits, as the chatter began once more.

You collapsed onto the floor, laying on your side with your cheek pressed against the linoleum floors, your breathing labored as you stared up at Leo for a few heartbeats, before rolling onto your back to stare dumbfounded up at Yaki. _"That_ was your plan?" You scoffed, as you smeared the freckles of Purple Dragon blood across.

Yaki stood there, staring at the entrance door smeared with a bloodied hand print. Isidore calmly hobbled over, swinging a spray bottle of bleach, humming a ditty as he began to smear the blood all over the glass with his dry rag. Yaki blinked once as she looked over at you, frown lines deeply embedded around her mouth. "Nope. It was his." She pointed underneath the counter to a smiling mutant, with his shoulders wrapped up tightly in a sea green blanket, who was casually writing in a baby blue notebook, his legs propped up and bent at his knees, as he used his thighs as a surface to write upon.

"You're welcome," He hummed, a cocky smile twitching the corners of his lips upward, though he seemed to fight it back to retain his facade of being the humblest man in the room.

Your head lolled over, your lips twitching upward into a smile as you reached over to grab at his ankle. "My hero..." You snorted, draping your left arm over your forehead.

* * *

"Do you want some soup, Isi?" Yaki called out as she stirred the pot, her free hand gripping the base of a wooden bowl as she glanced up at the blond haired boy silently playing with a pill bottle. "It'll help you swallow your pill." She finished, scooping a few spoonfuls into the bowl.

Isidore nodded as he looked up, flipping the pill bottle upside down and balancing it on the table as his fingers rapidly tapped against the wood. "Yeah. I guess." He muttered as he crossed his legs together and uncrossed them.

"I thought you hated vegetable soup?" Leonardo noted, chewing on a spoonful of soup, his hand wrapped around the bowl, craving it's warmth. He let out a sharp intake of breath, wincing as he squeezed his eyes shut, tensing up.

"Sorry!" You apologized, your hand gripping his forearm as you tightened the fresh bandages. A pile of bloodied bandages sat on the booth near him, a sad little pile near the little wrapped up rag full of his broken katana pieces. Murakami had neatly topped it off with a little piece of string tied into a fancy bow.

You had asked Leo to choose between two, morphine or bandages. 'Course, he had picked morphine, and you had only smiled, like the _bastard_ you were, and handed him a bowl of vegetable soup. Soup was the best you could do as an improvised pain killer.

Leonardo inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to ease his pain as he gave you a glance, his free hand digging into the table with his grip. "How much medical training have you had?" He noted dryly.

You snorted as you tied off the bandages with a knot, your fingers gently caressing his skin before you quickly pulled them away. "I've read a lot of whump fanfiction, okay? I'm an _expert!"_ You bragged with a small laugh, as Leonardo snorted, shaking his head, a smile growing on his lips as he took another sip of his soup.

You planted a hand on the back of his neck, pushing him forward slightly, (you had had a thought to slam his face into the soup but thought it was too... mean- even for _you)_ , as he hunched over his soup. You placed your knee onto the booth chair, your other hand planted on his carapace to take a look at the scars. ' _Scars inflicted by a paint creature, stupid;'_ your bully of a mind retorted, angry that you _still_ refused to tell him the truth. You hadn't forgotten that little puddle of paint that had come to life when it had combined with water. You just didn't know what to... _make_ of it.

"Vegetables are... _okay_ , but Mura's soup is the best." Isidore blurted out, his pale, blue green vein littered cheeks flushing pink as he drummed his fingers across the table into a chaotic rhythm.

Yaki swaggered over as she slapped the bowl in front of the boy, hands ruffling up his long hair, a coo escaping her lips out of pure habit. "And Mura's vegetable soup loves you back."

Isidore gently whined, swatting the twenty year old away as Yaki pressed a kiss to his forehead before walking off towards the line kitchen, slapping your back as you fell across the booth chair onto your stomach with a small 'oof'. Your side brushed against Leo's shell, which was already too close for comfort. You scrambled to sit up, pressed up against the wall near him, arms crossed as if you hadn't meant to do that.

Leonardo simply stared at you, a bemused smile on his lips as he rested his chin on his propped up hand, eyes fluttering. You glared back, before swiftly punching his shoulder, trying to ignore the sharp influx of pain that ricocheted throughout your arm... bone. Leo let out a laugh as he put his focus back onto his soup, leaning into your shoulder as you simply shoved him away. "Dude! You're _so_ annoying!" You retorted, pressing your back into the wall as you pressed your sneakers against the side of his shell, holding up his weight.

Leonardo pleasantly ignored you as he was pushed and shoved, continuing to lean the entirety of his weight against your playful, whining self. He glanced up at Isidore, who held up a spoonful of vegetable soup, and was digging a large white pill into the side of a piece of tofu. "Hey, Isi," he began slowly, unsure on how to carry a conversation with the slightly specist teenager.

"Isidore," the boy retorted, wiping his soup stained fingertips onto his sea green jacket, refusing to make eye contact with the mutant. You shot the boy a look coupled with a frown as you wiped down Leonardo's forearm with an antibacterial wipe, looking out for any smudges of paint that would come back to life and shriek bloody murder at you.

"Isidore," Leonardo began once more, unfazed by the boys abrupt and curt answer. "Can I ask why you're working here when you're so... _Young_ ?" It was a question that had been on his mind for a while. He remembered being fourteen and spending ten hours a day watching Space Heroes, face pressed up against the bulky tv, writing fanfiction, and eating cookies Mikey made when they were both little. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to work and go to public school at the same time.

Isidore quietly pushed the spoon into his mouth, his face twisting up as he chewed slowly, before swallowing harshly, his face one of disgust as he managed to eat the chalk-like pill. He sighed as he stirred his soup, laying the side of his face against his propped up hand. "My dad ran off with my Sunday school teacher to California three years ago and my mom's not okay in the head anymore," he stated bluntly, sipping another spoonful of soup.

You poked Leo's cheek as you made a face, a face that read, ' _he's not okay about it either_.' Which seemed rather obvious, but the boy could act so emotionless and stiff at times. And then you stole a shiitake mushroom from Leo's soup, ignoring his small gasp and pout, and started to draw on Leo's forearm with a sharpie from the pocket in your apron.

Leonardo huffed, before nodding slowly as he attempted to figure out a response to the boys abrupt response, glancing at Isidore who seemed to glare with hatred at his soup.

"They have a... _Daughter_ , now," Isidore's voice was quiet, strained with an underlying pain that had festered for years. "He doesn't send money, or happy birthday cards anymore." He swallowed down a spoonful of soup as he didn't seem to vibrate like he usually did. He simply sat there, his back straight, his body still. "He did..." Isidore began, inhaling shakily as he stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out his fist. "He did leave me this, I guess." He held out his hand and unfurled his fist, a golden coin about the size of a quarter, both sides blank, except for a small quote at the bottom, lay in the middle of his palm. Leonardo quietly held out his hand, gently pinching the edge of the coin and bringing it towards him, eyeing the blank coin. "It's a reminder of the good ol' days," Isi shrugged. "I guess."

"We already made a pact to murder his dad when we see him," Yaki called from the pantry, holding the door open with her free hand. Murakami stood by her, his face entirely serious as he dried off a bowl with a rag and nodded.

Leonardo sighed, rubbing his thumb over the blank coin, the golden paint chipping off to reveal a cheap metal layer. He glanced up at the boy, smiling sadly as he handed the coin back to Isidore. "I'd love to join the pact too."

"Bold of you to assume you weren't already included." You smiled, giving him a wink as you tapped a sharpie dot onto Leo's sharp cheekbone.

* * *

Leonardo calmly stood in the back hallway of the restaurant, arms crossed as he quietly eyed the framed pictures that hung against the beige wall. He smiled when his eyes came to rest upon one of you. You had a forced smile, your skin aglow with sweat and oil, as you wielded a knife at the person taking the picture, probably Yaki. It was cute. He wanted to steal it and hang it in his room. He didn't have many personal items, except the baby blue journal that he held under his arm, the panda pen tucked in between the pages.

His thoughts though were holding back the panic that had balled up in his chest, pushing past his lungs and rib cage to make space for his anxiety. He could practically hear the rapid footsteps slapping against the frozen over concrete of the rooftops. He couldn't think of any good excuse and knew that he would have to tell them the truth. He wasn't that great of a liar anyway. He would get tongue tied and all sweaty. It was better that way though. His father had taught him to never lie. He may have been dead but Leonardo still felt his presence, always looking over his shoulder. Watching. Judging.

Leonardo's tormented musings were interrupted by a laugh that came from the main restaurant, ringing throughout the pantry and echoing along the hallway. His shoulders slumped as he released the breath that he himself didn't realize that he had been holding. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a few deep meditative breaths to ease the tension that had taken hold of his body. Your laugh had reminded him to find peace, once more. A peace that had been ripped away from him, raw and bleeding, a year before.

The image of you sprawled across the linoleum floor, relief spilling into your eyes, releasing the tension that had tightened the skin around your eyes and mouth, that ethereal smile creeping onto your lips as your precious digits wrapped around his ankle, sending jolts towards his panicked heart- burned into his eyes. ' _My hero.'_ There was that voice once more, bursting with such joy that he could _see_ your ethereal smile so vividly. His eyelids ripped open as he took a step back in shock.

Where had _that_ come from?

Then, as Leo started to decipher his hormone driven feelings- the backdoor that led to the alley exploded.

It slammed dramatically into the wall, leaving a dent in the beige plaster from the doorknob. Raphael rushed forward, eyes filled with dead rage, hands outstretched as he began choking Leo. The eldest brother didn't fight back, he simply took the abuse.

"Raph! _No!"_ Shrieked Michelangelo who wore an over sized orange sweater around his waist with many questionable stains, as he raced through the doorway, wrapping his arms around Raphael and easily yanking him back. Unfortunately, Raphael's blinded rage refused to let go of Leo's neck, who was yanked along with him.

Donatello shuffled into the hallway, bowing his head under the doorway frame as he pulled the purple hoodie off of his head. He sighed loudly, ever the suffering brother, rolling his eyes. He ignored the chokes, cursing, and shrieks of horror, and grabbed the ends of Raphael's mask, yanking him backwards.

Raphael swore loudly, his muscles almost ripping through the bad boy-esque leather jacket he wore as he released Leonardo. His black leather covered arms flailing backwards as Donatello grabbed his arm, dragging him away from the brother he had just attempted to murder.

His entire frame seemed to shake with rage, his cheeks as red as the bandana tied around his face. He inhaled deeply, eyes practically lit aflame. "You- you _asshole_ ," Raph began, his voice a low dangerous whisper, his hands curling into tight fists as his chest billowed in and out. He seemed to attempt to calm himself down a bit with a breathing exercise, but it only made him angrier.

" _Where_." He began slowly, taking a step forward. _"Have."_ Another step, the tendons in his neck were stretching. _"You."_ A final step. **_"Been."_** He towered over Leonardo, who was bent over, one hand on his knee, the other gripping his neck, where red hand marks had begun to form.

Michelangelo stepped in between them, his mouth an awkward thin line as he looked over at Raph, poking his plastron. "He can't say anything because you _choked_ _him_ , dude." He pointed out, ever the voice of reason.

Donatello stood in the doorway, arms limply by his side as he simply stared at his eldest brother, a calm fury in his eyes. Leonardo refused to make eye contact with either of them, only trying to regain his breathing as he stared at the linoleum floor below him.

You peeked through the pantry door, eyes wide and your lips thin as you watched. You didn't know what to _do_. You realized that these were his brothers, ( _or at least a gang of other mutant turtles, he had only talked about his father, and that was rare_ ) and wasn't sure if you should step out. Your fingers itched to strangle the red one for touching your Leo. That was just uncalled for. But then again, all four them seemed so... as if they had given up. There was a heartbreak in their eyes, and an intense grief hidden behind anger and disappointment.

Your gaze went from Leonardo's shell that faced you, streaked with indents to the one with an orange sweater tied around his waist. Who had his hand on the angry ones face and was petting it as rapidly as he could, testing the rage of the red one.

The orange ones shell had paint on it, and it was eating through his carapace.

A giggle burst forth from you as you slapped a hand over mouth, pulling away from the door as you allowed it to shut, turning as you stared wide eyed into the pantry. Why did this _always_ happen to you? You were a good person... Well, other than abandoning your parents to move to the city against their wishes... _Plus_ you hadn't been to church in two years... but overall, a good person.

' _alcohol!'_ Your brain chirped in excitement, as you moved towards the pantry, hoping that Yaki had replaced the bottle back into small wooden dresser that held the utensils and bowls. You ripped open the doors as your heart fluttered at the sight of the beer bottle, yanking it by the neck, snatching up a rag as you doused it in the liquid over the large industrial sink. You were surprisingly calm, a rare emotion, as you let the brown bottle clatter into the metal sink, grabbing the bleach spray bottle as you doused the drenched rag once more. Then you were running towards the pantry door, slamming your shoulder against it. You tackled the orange masked turtle, ignoring the cocky hiss emitting from the paint, barely heard over the developing argument between Leo and his brothers.

Michelangelo shrieked as he was toppled onto his plastron, feeling a weight press against his shell as he was pinned to the linoleum ground. He felt a pain twinge at his spine, and wondered if he had just been stabbed through his shell. Was that even possible? "Am I being _murdered_?!" He screamed, flailing his limbs as he attempted to roll onto his shell, but really didn't want to crush his murderer under his weight.

' _i'm trying to save you!'_ You wanted to scream back as you straddled Mikey's shell, your thighs pressing on either side of him as you scrubbed aggressively at the shell. Indents and deep streaks appearing as you wiped the hot pink paint off, as it popped and snarled at you, sizzling as it was burned by the alcohol and bleached doused rag.

"Y/n!" Leonardo's hoarse voice croaked out, pushing Raphael away as he rushed forward, confusion and worry written across his face. Had you finally snapped?

**"DONE!"** You gasped out, throwing your arms into the air, clutching the now neon pink rag between your hands in victory, your hands stained with the vibrant color, as you rolled off of Mikey's shell onto your back. You breathed heavily, tossing the rag at Leonardo who quickly snatched it in his hand, his eyes narrowed and his mouth a stern thin line.

You avoided his suspicious gaze as your head lolled over, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand, the palm stained neon pink. "Hi." You panted. "I'm Y/n by the way."

Michelangelo sat up, craning his neck over his shoulder to try and figure out what had just violated his shell. He looked over at the employee and grinned, taking your hand in his, shaking it. "Mikey! Nice to meet you, dudette. Now- what the _heck_ did you do to my shell?" He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You ignored him, though it pained you. If you hadn't told Leonardo the truth yet, who had most likely been attacked by the same paint that had begun to eat through Mikey's shell, then you wouldn't tell one of his brothers first. You looked up to find Leonardo towering over you, holding the wet neon pink drenched rag in his hand. A few droplets of bleach and alcohol slapped against your forehead, gently sizzling and burning your skin. You didn't mind though. The pure confusion and hurt in his eyes damaged you more than the mark of paint on your forehead.

"I have a lot of explaining to do," You exhaled softly, folding your hands over your stomach as you pursed your lips, becoming quiet. "Don't I?"

Leonardo simply nodded once, as he straightened his back pushing open the door abruptly, as he walked through, silent and stoic as ever before.

"Yeah." Raphael grunted, taking a few steps as he bent over you, the random human sprawled across the ground. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he frowned. "You do."


	6. family reunions are great! trust me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your head snapped up, eyes widening and your jaw dropping as you gripped the balled up rag in between your hands. "BABE?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all you lovely readers who leave comments- they honestly make me so happy; don’t stop!!

Everyone sat crammed around the small square table, angrily eating soup as they all took turns glaring at one another. There was a tension that hung heavily along the ground, curling around the ankles of their members, sending a chill along their bones. It didn't do much to fade away at the biting anger that seemed to burn along the atmosphere above the table. The side eyed glares, the quick glances, the downward twitch of a bitter mouth. The scuffing and squeaking of sneakers and bare feet, the nervous tapping of nails against wood. And, of course, the happy noises that a certain mutant turtle made as he gorged down on his fifth bowl of vegetable soup, ends of his orange mask tails drenched with the salty liquid that he would probably chew on later.

The silence suffocated you. It felt _wrong_ , in this situation. Awkward as it may have been for his family to show up and attempt to murder him, they were still... _family_. You had never had great memories concerning family, in your own personal experience. Your parents had been way too busy to provide you any attention or parental support, assuming that Nickelodeon, your nanny, and all the toys in the world were enough for little you. It wasn't. You felt a ball of burning rage well up in your chest as memories resurfaced, but simply choked them back. You would _not_ have a mental breakdown at the table, especially not in front of Leonardo and his family. You had already spent a good minute crying in the back hallway after the events of... well, _paint_ had occurred a mere fifteen minutes ago.

You rose your head slightly, hands twisting a paper napkin, as pieces ripped away attaching to your sweaty palms. Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment and you quickly averted them, concerning yourself with how much Isidore snored while his head rested in Yaki's lap. This all felt so wrong. It felt as if you were both strangers again after he had fallen from the sky and you had left his unconscious self in the alley, though _only_ for a few minutes.

The red masked one, Raph, hadn't eaten at all; simply glaring at Leonardo with his arms crossed. There was a sort of intensity that just screamed _murder_ in his gaze, which, coupled with a set of vibrant green eyes, seemed to drag his message across the table to slap Leonardo in the face.

It hadn't gone so well when the rest of the mutants had met the employees of the restaurant. Murakami was, of course, absolutely delighted to be reunited with the boys he had practically adopted as his own. Isidore, on the other hand, had screamed with the force of a thousand burning suns, and had thrown an entire tray of freshly made pizza dumplings into the air. Michelangelo had dived for the dumplings and had shoveled about ten into his mouth before Yaki and Raphael were able to pull him away. Food poisoning was _probably_ imminent.

Then there was the uncomfortable tension between Raphael and Yaki. Though they had worked together to pry uneaten raw dough from Mikey's mouth- there was something... there. Something brewing that made your intestines twist around and clench. The way Yaki had barely even cracked a joke, the way she had side eyed Raphael before giving Michelangelo a pleasant kiss on the forehead. The way she wiped her palms across her black crop top, and how she brushed her bangs from her reddish brown eyes before swiftly punching an annoyed Donatello in the shoulder with a cheer. This wasn't Yaki. This wasn't her usual cockiness, the way she carried herself- the same Yaki who had once gotten herself into a physical altercation with a middle aged man who commented on her lack of femininity. You still warmly recalled that fond memory, how Yaki had broken the man's nose with the sole of her shoe, with you and Murakami having to bail her out of the jails holding cell.

"Well!" Michelangelo chirped, slapping his empty bowl onto the wooden table, the abandoned utensils bouncing and clattering down. "This is _incredibly_ awkward!" He smiled, pushing his arms across the table to slowly pull Leonardo's still full, lukewarm soup, towards his own salivating mouth.

Isidore sat up swiftly, as if he was a mummified royal rising from his golden sarcophagus, massaging his fingers into the nape of his neck. "Yeah, this is _super_ awkward." He nodded, before wrapping his arms around Yaki's arm to nuzzle his face into her warmth, a small content hum spilling from his lips. He usually became this soft after a hearty bowl of soup, coupled with his medicine that always seemed to make him drowsy and incredibly soft.

You let out a deep, dramatically depressed sigh, stirring the small metal spoon in between your forefinger and thumb along the edge of the wooden bowl. Your elbows perched onto the table, your fingers digging into your jawline. "You've been asleep for the last twenty minutes." You commented dryly, trying your best to arch your eyebrow as Yaki usually did, but only managing to lift both of your brows into a surprised expression.

"Uh-huh. And I could _still_ feel the tension." He huffed, peeking around a stiff Yaki to eye you with a sort of feigned annoyance in his puffy eyes.

Yaki nodded slowly, her eyes borrowing a hole into the black and white picture of Murakami as a young man in front of his restaurant when it was newly opened, as she slowly held up a can of Pepsi to her lips, taking a sip. "Yeah. We should probably all..." Her eyes flickered towards Raphael's, as she averted her gaze to stroke at Isidore's silk like hair. "Talk. About," she waved her Pepsi can around. _"Everything."_

"Oh, so _now_ you wanna talk." A bitter burst of laughter erupted from the mostly silent Raphael, as he somehow managed to stab his metal spoon into the wooden table that happened to be older than him.

Yaki let out a muffled groan through her clenched teeth, a terrifying grin on her lips as she tilted her head. Her fingers crushed the can in her hands as if she was imagining herself choking the hot headed mutant, the aluminum whining and creaking. "Oh yeah, I'll _talk_. Let's talk about how you're wearing the leather jacket that you _stole_ from me-" Her voice grew in unchecked rage as she raised the quivering can of soda, ready to launch it at the mutant who was inching for Donnie's spoon.

" _Okay_ , you two. That's enough." You snapped, your hand reaching out to snatch up Yaki's quivering wrist before she could launch her assault. You were almost proud of your sudden statement. Your eyes flicked over to the quiet mutant, hoping for some recognition from stopping the pair from leaping over the table and stabbing one another with metal utensils and/or Donnie's leg.

Nothing. He stared at the table as if he was ashamed to make eye contact with anyone. His shoulders were stiff, he was slightly hunched over as he stared at the items in his hands, the crumbled up note with it's threat, and the rag of broken pieces. The sky blue notebook balanced itself on his thigh, his pen stuffed in between the crinkling pages.

" _Fine_ ," Raph spat, snagging a pizza dumpling from the plate in the middle of the table, cooked this time mind you, as he popped it in his mouth. "Let's start wit' you," he mumbled as he chewed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he narrowed his eyes. "Where the _hell_ have ya been?"

"I agree." Donnie spoke up, his neck craned backward as he stared at the ceiling, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, having stayed in that position for the last twenty minutes.

"We thought you died bro!" Mikey spoke up cheerfully, glad to have a share in this very depressing family conversation as his hand snaked forward for the pizza dumplings in Isidore's bowl. Isi shot up from his sprawled position, slapping Mikey's hand away. He scooped up the last two dumplings and stuffed it in his mouth, cheeks expanding as if he was an angry chipmunk. He chewed slowly, maintaining death defying eye contact, as he snuggled back into Yaki's stiff side, glaring at the pouting mutant.

You almost snorted at Mikey's response, shaking your head gently as tour nails picked at an irritated acne scab on your jawline. ~~ _'you almost died, too 'dude'.'_~~ You wanted to point out, the memory of paint actually eating through the mutants shell as if it were acid on human flesh still sent jolts and chills along your skin.

Leonardo stayed quiet, earning equal silence from the members around the table, all waiting for what he had to say. Raphael still seethed as he began to stuff his face with pizza dumplings, Donnie stared at his brother though he had began to slowly take spoonfuls of delicious vegetable soup. Michelangelo wondered whether or not Yaki wanted her dumplings, and Isidore still tried to figure out how evolution had messed up so much concerning these mutant turtles.

You watched these three brothers that seemed to be carbon copies of Leonardo, all with their differing personalities, traits, and shapes- before you realized how hungry they actually were. It was as if you were seeing these four in a new light. How hungrily they downed the food that Murakami had graciously bestowed upon them, how sunken in their cheeks were, how prominent their cheekbones illuminated against their skin, and how _empty_ their eyes seemed to be. Sure, they were strong, but they were incredibly thin. 

They were starving.

Your saddened thoughts were interrupted by Leonardo holding up the rag, ripping off the string as the broken katana pieces spilled out across the table, the two handles clattering onto the wood loudly, the sound resonating around the restaurant.

The three brothers stopped chewing, their eyes widening as they stared at the pieces in silence, their mind making the connection with what used to be Leonardo's proud set of twin katanas. The once tension filled silence was now thick with shock and horror, both Yaki and Isidore silently staring at the pieces. Everything seemed to be coming together, the severity of the situation they were in, the waves of pain that peeled off Leonardo's skin, and his dead gaze.

"Does _that_ answer your question, Raph?" His hoarse voice bitterly pushed out, his fingers digging into his thighs as he hunched over, as if he was desperately trying to focus on not throwing up at the sight of it again.

"You..." Raphael licked his lips, a hand reaching out to pick up a small piece of thin metal between his fingertips. "You broke your... katanas? Dads gift to you?" His voice was shaking, as if anger was slowly spilling into his body and poisoning his tone.

"No, I-" Leonardo began, wringing his hands together as he refused to make eye contact with any of their disappointed gazes. How could he explain this to them? He himself still had no clue on what attacked him, no information on the past hectic night that he had suffered through.

"If it wasn't you, then what?" Donatello frowned, his eyes narrowed as he took one of the katana handles, his fingers scraping along the broken off metal of it, eyes clouded with suspicion and thoughts.

"Was it..." Mikey's voice dropped an octave as he took a few careful glances around the empty restaurant. "The _Shredder_?"

"Why would the Shredder break his katanas and not murder him?" Raphael huffed, flicking the back of Mikey's head who winced and nursed his bowl of soup against his plastron.

"Wow, seems like you were hoping that I died." Leonardo snapped, kneading his fingers into the sides of his temples, glaring at the pieces scattered across the table. The glittering metal reflected his angry gaze, breaking apart his face across countless bits of scratched up and dented iron.

"Yeah, you're not getting _any_ sympathy until you explain why you _disappeared_ for two whole days, hm?" Raphael leaned forward, shoulders squared and stiff as his fists pressed hard against the cold wooden tabletop. "Just to lounge around and stuff yourself while we all starve?" His skits of green prodded at his brother, demanding an answer as he tilted his head.

"No, that's-" Leonardo sighed, teetering on the edge of his seat as if he would bolt at any second, eyes flickering side to side in distress. He let out a breath as he pressed the palms of his hands across the edge table. "That's not what-" 

"He was attacked by something," the statement spilled out of your mouth, as a horrified Yaki slowly looked upon you. "So..." You swallowed harshly, glancing over at your friend. "Back off him." You shrugged, as if you had just asked for such a stupidly simple request that would not get you strangled by this hothead.

Raphael's head slowly turned towards you, his gaze bleeding with motion as the corner of his lip twitched in either anger or a terrifying smile. "When I want an opinion from a human, I'll ask." He smiled.

Yaki threw her empty Pepsi can at Raphael's plastron, as it ricocheted off and tumbled onto the ground, rolling underneath the table. Raph's head snapped to glare at Yaki as she tapped her thumbs against the screen of her phone without any real motive, a blank look spread out across her features.

Isidore perked up, a snort erupting from his nostrils. "Bold words coming from a _turtle_." He scoffed loudly, smoothing his shaking free hand against his long strands of blond hair away from his eyes.

"Last I checked," Raphael shot a glare across the three employees seated at the edge of the small square table crammed with utensils and bowls and plates. "This is supposed to be a family meeting."

Michelangelo sat up from his aggressive consumption of Leonardo's bowl of vegetable soup. "Yaki's family!" He pointed out with a grin, jabbing forward at the woman with some soy sauce stained chopsticks.

Raphael slammed a fist against the table, rattling the items on it as the inhabitants gathered around jumped in their seats. "She ain't anymore!" He shot out, before sighing deeply, pressing his fist to his mouth as he stared at his cup of water.

Yaki inhaled sharply as her typing only increased in it's speed, the only indication of hurt flashing throughout her reddish brown eyes.

"Okay." Leonardo ripped off the napkin that laid across his lap, standing up as his chair screeched across the linoleum floors. "I'm done." He balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the table.

"Oh, you're running away _again_?" Raphael laughed, his eyes crinkled with tension and hate as he shot up as well, Mikey watching it all go down with a mouth full of noodles and mushrooms. "You haven't even given us one good reason as to why ya just got up and left!" Retorted the red masked mutant, pointing a finger towards his brother accusingly.

"I was patrolling." Leonardo shrugged, letting his arms fall to his sides. "How's _that_ for an excuse?" He retorted, tilting his head as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his flat feet.

"Bull." Raph scoffed, leaning forward as he pressed his pale knuckles against the table. "The three of us haven't been patrolling for the last year," He spat, pausing for a moment as he began to grind his teeth. "You should've given up like the rest of us did."

Leonardo took a step backward, the space between his nonexistent eyebrows knitting together. "Give up on our city? On the one rule Splinter imbedded in our minds to protect the people-"

Donatello straightened in his seat, his stare blank and twinging with annoyance. "That was before the humans found out what we were and turned on us." His voice lingered with poison as his gaze fell upon you, before they averted and he began to focus on the scattered katana pieces. He slipped a small metal piece across the wooden table, slipping it into the pocket of his purple hoodie discreetly.

Raphael sighed deeply, allowing his head to bow as his shoulders slouched. He slowly unfurled his hands, allowing his palms to press against the table. Why did he have to be the voice of reason? The leader, the older brother? Wasn't that Leo's job? "Look." His voice lowered as he raised his gaze to stare at his brother. "Dads... dead. There's no reason to follow his empty commands. I'm glad that he died before this stupid ‘anti mutant’ campaign. Before he saw us all give up."

Leonardo crossed his arms, rubbing his forearms as the room suddenly seemed cold. He chewed on his bottom lip, refusing to believe that his eyes burning meant anything. "I haven't given up."

Mikey had shrugged his jacket back on, pulling his hoodie over his head as he tightened the drawstrings. He tied a knot, a frown on his lips as he took a moment to wonder if he should interject. "You gave up the night dad died, bro." His voice was gentle, as he cracked his knuckles as the words seemed to burn the back of his throat.

"No, I didn't! I'm _trying_!" His voice had risen to a few hysterical octaves as he threw his hands into the air, allowing them to drag across his face. "I'm trying to protect the city, I'm trying to follow the routine that we started five years ago." A shuddered breath escaped his lips as he looked upon each of his brothers, the three humans awkwardly eating food and avoiding eye contact. "I'm trying to remember Splinter."

"Leo," Mikey's soft voice rang out once more, as he shrugged, a weak laugh escaping him. "You don't even wanna call him dad."

The suffocating silence took over once more as it coupled with the soft and equally angry labored breaths of the seven. Leonardo stared at the ground, his hands gripping his forearms as he tried his best to still his shaking frame.

"... Let's just go home." His broken voice rang out, raw with emotion and tears that made you want to rip out your hair- instead you just bit the side of your cheek. "Please?"

The three brothers shared only a fleeting glance as Raphael slowly nodded, straightening as he rubbed his bruised knuckles. "Okay." His voice was clouded, gruff as it tucked away the pain he was attempting to smother.

Donnie stood up, pushing in his seat as he stacked up the plates of his brothers, turning as he walked towards the pantry to join Murakami, his face contorted into one of deep thought.

Michelangelo stood as well, wiping down the table with his napkin, before crumpling it up and tossing it into his brothers abandoned cup. He shot the three humans a wide grin as he picked up the plates, balancing the cups and bowls onto it. He moved between the three as he patted isidore's head. "Bye dude!" The blond haired boy responded with a withering glare.

Mikey winced and side stepped behind Yaki. "Bye Yak-Yak!" He wrapped an arm around Yakis neck, and nuzzled his face into her boyish hair. You quietly fumed at the infringement of your nickname for your friend.

Yaki simply smiled and rubbed a hand against Mikey's cheek. "Bye-bye Mikester." She laughed, glancing up at the towering mutant with a playful look in her usually terrifying gaze.

Michelangelo shuffled over to your side, as you pushed away your bowl of noodles away as you attempted to ease the guilt building up inside of you. The mutant drummed his knuckles against the top of your head, his grin glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the restaurant. "It's nice to meet you my would be murderer!" He snickered, waving as he walked off into the pantry.

You tried to smile but it didn't feel right at the moment, and a sudden quip escaped your lips though Michelangelo had already disappeared into the pantry. "Bye my would be victim." You sighed, swallowing harshly as if you were trying to metaphorically hold back the truth. At least Leonardo had been too busy to prod you for what had pushed you to tackle Mikey. Was it so terrible of you to feel grateful?

Leonardo reached forward and gently took up his few personal items, tucking the small note, that he still hadn't revealed to his family, between the pages. He turned to leave, desperate to disappear into the sewers and lock himself in his room for days.

"Wait!" Your voice rang out, as your stood abruptly. Your fingertips pressed against the edge of the table, as you quietly begged for him to turn back around.

Leonardo almost flinched at your abrupt statement, sighing as he pressed his eyes shut. "What?" His voice hindered with annoyance rang out, his legs itching for him to just make a run for it.

"You-" Your voice cracked as you cursed yourself for sounding so weak, so hurt. You turned your gaze to drag your hand across the table, pushing the broken katana pieces and handles towards him. "You forgot your katanas, Leo." You reached out for the discarded rag on his side of the table where he had been seated only moments before.

"No." Leonardo blurted out, looking over his shoulder and mentally kicking himself for the way his rude tone caused pain to flood your features. He sighed and gave you a small weak smile that really did make it seem like he was lying. "It's, it's alright Y/n." He nodded once before turning and walking towards the pantry. "Just throw them away. I don't need them anymore."

You wished he hadn't said that; coupled with his cracking voice and his solemn tone ringing out throughout the restaurant, made you want to curl onto the cold bleached ground and hope that the chemicals burned your flesh. You swallowed, a lump in your throat padded with guilt and pain, and nodded, turning your gaze at the side pieces of metal that reflected your sorrow. Like you were gonna throw this away. You didn't know him as well as you would have liked, but these katana's were obviously part of his personality. It was the truth and everyone in the vicinity knew it.

' _still hurt that he left like that,'_ your pained brain pondered, anxiety creeping out from the darkest parts of your mind.

_'he'll be back.'_ You retorted, annoyed that your stupid anxiety had kept silent throughout this whole fiasco- and now here it was, planting seeds of doubt. 

_'will he?'_

You winced as the piece of metal sliced your palm, a small cut, yes, but it really hurt nonetheless. You clenched your hand as your other hand gripped the dry rag in the other.

Raphael, who still stood at his side of the table as if he was glued to the ground, sighed. "Smart move." He walked around the table and stood by her, Yaki tensing up as he stood in between you two.

You stayed silent, glaring into the side of Raphael's head at the brother that was tormenting Leonardo. The mutant paid you no attention, scooping up the katana pieces easily into the palms of his calloused hands, before allowing them to tumble into the rag that you gripped.

"If you're going to handle them at home, you should use some electric gloves." Raphael gently pointed out, before stuffing his hands in the pockets of Yaki's stolen leather jacket.

You nodded, holding back the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, that's what you should have done. If you had electrical gloves just lying around. Dumb identical-brother-to-Leonardo-and-equally-as-hot- jock.

"Um... Thanks." You nodded, refusing to make eye contact with those vampire-esque eyes ( _just like yaki's_!) that you were sure you would paint in your spare time.

Raphael nodded, as he turned to look over his shoulder at Yaki who seemed to glare at puppy videos as she scrolled past them on Instagram. "Bye babe." His gruff voice rang out, as he sidestepped and walked around you into the pantry, a burst of laughter erupting from Mikey who seemed to be chasing Donnie around with a blunt object.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening and your jaw dropping as you gripped the balled up rag in between your hands. " _BABE_?!"

* * *

Isidore stuffed his Mickey Mouse key into the lack of the spider web covered doorknob, the dim lighting of the apartment hallway not helping the boy who technically needed glasses but refused to wear them. "Mason's probably asleep so I don't know why you wanna see him." He grumbled quietly, his almost nonexistent eyebrows twisting together.

"Because your brother is absolutely adorable and we're his favorites." Yaki retorted, slapping a hand against isidore's back, who almost banged his forehead into the door from the force of the friendly clasp.

The teenager glared at his two coworkers, nostrils flaring as he placed the heel of his foot against the corner of the door, shoving it forward as it scraped across the coarse carpet. "You guys saw him last month."

"Oh, stop your whining, baby!" Yaki huffed, ruffling her fingers throughout Isi's silk like hair as she moved into the apartment. She was instantly mowed down by an erratic eight year old boy with a mess of chocolate brown curls, a loud consistent shriek spilling from his mouth.

Yaki simply stood there, looking down at the boy who wrestled with her left calf, a small smile on her lips as she ruffled up his curls. "Hi Mason!" She laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

You shuffled in with Isidore, your face as blank as the usually indifferent teenage boy next to you. Your mind was clouded and pained with many turbulent thoughts as you nervously twisted the ends of your sweater paws, chewing on your bottom lip.

"I learned cursive yesterday and I hated it!" Mason laughed, craning his neck upward to gaze upon the six foot woman. His face was dotted with either freckles or chocolate, probably a combination of both, his long eyelashes stirring up jealousy in Yaki.

"Join the club, kid." Yaki wrapped her disgust around the boys waist and easily hefted him up, tucking her arm underneath him to hold him against her side. She looked around as the child proceeded to play with her sort short hair. "Where's your mom?"

A woman tumbled out of the kitchen, a manicured hand gripping the doorway as dirty blonde curls fell out of a lopsided bun situated on top of her head. Her skin was pale, a sickly sort of aura surrounding her thin frame. A veil hung around her neck as if it was a tacky scarf. "Oh... Hello, Yaki." She sashayed towards Yaki, a small wistful smile on her lips as she held her hands out for a hug.

Isidore stepped in front of Yaki, an unknown emotion contorting his features as he held out his arms to quietly wrap around the fragile frame of his mother. "Hi mom." He whispered, resting his head on his shoulder, fingers gripping her warm t-shirt.

His mothers eyebrows knitted in confusion for a moment, before realization flooded her features as she hugged Isidore back. "Hi... sweetheart. How was..."

"Work?" Isidore interjected, his voice muffled as he buried his face into her neck, glaring at the couch located near them.

"Mm." She hummed, gently rubbing her digits along his thin shoulders.

"What's with the veil?" Yaki quietly interjected, as Mason began to slap his hand against her large open palm. 

"Oh, this old thing?" Giggled the woman, Isidore quietly pulling away to stuff his shaking hands into his pockets. His mother picked the corners of the material and rubbed it against her cheeks. "I just got back from my anniversary trip. Henry wanted to see me in it again." She crooned, a glazed look spilling across her eyes as she fell silent.

Yaki opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly silenced by isidore's glare. She simply nodded and pinched Masons flushed pink cheek, who screeched and swatted her face.

You ignored them all, simply closing the door you stood in front of, your body on auto drive as you stared at the hardened carpets layered with years of nastiness. You couldn't feel much, and the outside conversation was garbled and mute as if you were underwater. It felt as if you were at fault for all that had happened with Leo. You had been the one that wished for him to stay. He could've gone home that night but he didn't- he stayed because of... well, you. The realization made you chew even harder on the inside of your cheek, already abusing the raw flesh. You didn't realize that isidore's mother was speaking to you until Yaki kicked your in the ankle. You winced, glaring at your friend before looking over at the fragile, ill woman.

"Oh dear Y/n, you seem a bit... distracted." Hummed the woman, reaching out to clasp your hands in her cold clammy ones. The feel made you want to die inside and bleach your hands, but you simply forced a smile.

"I am, actually. Sorry, Ms. Bennett." Your words came out in short distracted bursts as the smell of oils, such as eucalyptus, lemon, and tea tree attacked your innocent nostrils who had not anything to receive such abuse in the form of fragrances. The woman simply reeked of illness.

Isidore's mother huffed, pulling her hands away as she clutched at her veil, her thin eyebrows contorted as she eyed you. "It's Mrs Reynolds, darling. My husband is on his second tour in Afghanistan. He's not dead, and I am not a widow." Her harsh voice seemed to prevail behind her soft delicate tone, as she clawed at her veil, leaving red raw marks on her pale neck.

"Oh. Um, sorry about that Mrs Reynolds. Murakami used to call you Ms. Bennett so I just..." You trailed off, finally realizing how many pictures of this woman's husband was plastered on the beige walls of the small apartment. There were headshots, wedding pictures, medals, family pictures, zoomed in pictures of his blond hair and light brown eyes, pictures of the two of them as teens, baby pictures of mason- none of Isidore. The unfaithful man seemed to be worshipped with the amount of propaganda on every table, above the mantle, and picture frames on the floor.

"Oh, my dear Murakami! He hired myself and Henry when we were just teenagers!" She gushed. "It's how we first met actually; and he was such a dead, conjuring up opportunities for the two of us to simply be in one another's presence." She sighed dreamily, folding her hands over her bosom as she stared at an empty space above your head with a terrified look in her gaze.

Yaki looked above your head, before nodding swiftly and putting down a content wiggling Mason. "Welp! Time to go! I'm sure you three have to go to bed to get up for church early," her voice lowered. "Or whatever white people do on Sundays."

Now it was your turn to kick your friend in the calf, placing your hands on your hips, glad for some sort of distraction from your guilt driven thoughts. Ah, the smell of casual racism from your hypocritical friend late at night.

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" Cooed the mother, pressing her fingertips together as a hysterical giggle erupted from her lips, a few seconds too long. "Mason has his Sunday school and Isidore is in choir! Have I mentioned that he's in choir?"

"Yes Celene, you have." Another loud thwack sounded against Yaki's ankle who bit down on her bottom lip and hissed angrily. "I mean... no, I haven't."

"Well, my dear son is in choir." Celene bobbed her head up and down, her eyes flickering side to side as she nibbled on her bright red acrylic nails. She perked up and looked upon the two awkward young women. "I'll make sure to pray for you two tomorrow as well!"

You winced at the mention of prayer, it reminded you way too much of your parents, high up in the ranks of the community as respected members of the church. The last time you herself had prayed, was for God to give you the strength to shove those stupid six garabage bags into the bin.

Yaki wondered if it was appropriate to announce the fact that she herself was Muslim but thought better of it. "That's alright," she grinned, bending down to squish Mason's face between her dark hands. "Y/n prays for my heathen soul every _single_ day."

* * *

Leonardo pushed open the door, the large rectangular piece of wood loudly creaking on its hinges as light from the living room spilled into his depressingly empty room. The walls were devoid of any of his Space Heroes, The Office, and Jackie. Chan posters. No longer were his figurines meticulously placed on his dresser, the excess of Disney stickers having been ripped off, left behind on the mirror above the bureau. No longer was his bed covered with paraphernalia of Captain Ryan's face, the covers simply a dull grey. There was nothing, only the essentials.

Leo looked down at the notebook in his hands, feeling a burst of emotion tear at his puffy eyes. Or, so he thought. He stepped inside, pressing his hand against the door into the doorframe with a small click, blocking out the voices of his brothers in the living room. Donatello simply glanced over at his brothers door, frowning before focusing once more on the conversation.

Yeah, Leo had run off ahead of them and left a few stray tears spill, (alright, _maybe_ a lot), but that wasn't the point. He didn't care what they had to say, this whole mess could wait until the very next morning. If he woke up.

Leonardo moved throughout the darkness, being led only by the light that crept under the door. He reached towards the red lamp on the desk pressed up against the left concrete wall, the light casting a blood like color across the empty depressing room. He sighed deeply, caressing the golden lettering on the synthetic blue leather. He pulled out the wooden chair from underneath the desk, as he sat down, hunching over as he propped his elbows onto his thighs. He wondered if you knew just how much this gift meant to him. When his brothers were smaller they all used to exchange little homemade gifts. But this, this seemed to _really_ tug at his heart strings.

He opened up the notebook, smoothing out the first few pages and smiling at the chaotic lettering of your full name. He could barely read your messy handwriting but found it so cute. He himself had spent years mastering his style of writing, so much so that it was practically calligraphy at this point. He flipped the next page and found numbers.

Your phone number.

His face seemed to burn up as soon as his eyes fell open the series of numbers and the little note underneath, that made his heart dance even more.

 _'if you ever need me, my guy, just give me a call dude.'_ And then a little smiling emoji that had a little blue bandana painted one. The splitting image of him.

It was funny, he usually gave out his number to people he met in need. Just in case their ex showed up again and they were too scared to call the police. Just in case their dad came home drunk again, just in case their mom tried to shove them into a motel room for fifty dollars worth of a night with a perverted stranger; or just in case they were standing on the edge of a bridge. Crying, alone, and suicidal

And now, here you were, concerned about him, knowing that he was so terribly alone, and that sometimes he needed someone. Sometimes he needed saving.

Leonardo sighed, feeling the smile that he tried to hold back spread out across his features. He reached out for the phone that he had left behind on his desk, pressing the home button as he filled in your contact. He had your number, your full name, and your nickname. _'Broomie girl.'_ He wasn't the greatest at nicknames like his younger brother.

Leonardo inhaled deeply, staring at the little message button, wondering if he should take the chance. The alarm clock on his desk glared at him and said no with its neon green time, but he didn't care much. He pressed the green bubble and took the chance.

_'Thank you. For everything.'_

And then Leo shut down his phone, threw it in his desk drawer, shoved it closed and crawled he on top of his bed, his adrenaline rushing. He inhaled deeply as crossed his legs over the other, rubbing his left shoulder as it ached from the events of the chaotic day. He plucked his pen from the inside of the notebook, uncapping the little panda face cap and popping it onto the end of the pen. He smoothed out the first page, a random detailed eye scribbled into the corner courtesy of you, and began to write.

_'My name is Leonardo Yoshi Hamato, I am nineteen years of age, and I met a girl who has the light of hope in her eyes, making my life even brighter.'_

Leonardo winced at his failed attempt at poetry, _(god almighty he wrote this in **pen** too-)_ as he scribbled out the end statement.

_'I met Y/n today and she makes me happy. I hope I make her happy too.'_

Eventually, the first two pages of the notebook had all their statements scribbled and scratched out, until he finally passed out, trying his best to write poetry based off of you.


	7. all men are fools- except the cat... and Leo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That is a girl, stupid!" The blond haired henchman snapped over the sound of their boss screaming bloody murder and trying to push Yaki off of him, all while crying out that it would not be in her best interest to destroy his face once again.
> 
> "Girls ain't bald!" Huffed the purple haired one, crossing his arms over his blood splattered vest.
> 
> "Well this one is!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are staying safe during this social distancing fiasco. I was sick for about a week and it was NOT fun. I hope all of you are faring better than I am. :)

The orange tabby cat sashayed over to the open notebook, sprawling it's long frame across the pages, placing it's head across his paws with a satisfied purr. His long fluffy tail curled around your wrist, the exasperated sleep deprived artist, as you simply let out an annoyed sigh as you let your pencil drop from your fingers, clattering onto the wooden counter of the small open kitchen. The sudden sound made the lounging cat glare at you in annoyance, as you simply scrunched up your nose and huffed.

So much for trying to end your artist's block.

Though, it may have been a gift in the form of your roommates annoying cat, since you had spent the last two hours sketching out eyes and lips- which made it seem that you were a serial killer with a very specific fetish. You weren't, you were just a very inspiration deprived artist with little to give to the world that thirsted for art. Was that a good excuse?

You planted your cramping hands at the edge of the wooden counter, pushing your high chair back as you slid off, maintaining your glare at the feline. The cat didn't pay you no mind as it began to groom at his small paw, drenching your notebook page in saliva, smearing the pencil drawn sketches.

You made a small noise of horror as you curled your fingers into your sweats, knowing that if you tried to move the cat away or snatch your notebook back, you would get a few good nibbles and scratches for your crime.

Why couldn't Yaki have been a dog person, just like you? The day that Yaki had kicked open their apartment door, holding that bastard of an animal in her arms, a carefully crafted sob story spilling from her lips- you had _known_ that this feline would be your enemy. He always seemed to push over your acrylic oils and cups of paint brushes right off your dresser. He always snagged a few bits of food off your dinner and breakfast plate whenever you weren't looking, and he didn't have a curfew; showing up at unholy times during the morning, meowing at their window. You were _always_ ready to leave the cat outside until the end of time, but Yaki somehow found the will to drag her corpse out of bed, and let the evil feline in with a coo.

You and Lady Garbage had a rivalry that made Yaki desperately try to convince you that this feline was, in fact, the savior of her entire world (whatever _that_ meant), and deserved to be treated as such. You wouldn't fall for that though. You were a stubborn dog person and would _die_ as one.

Your phone vibrated loudly against the counter, alarming the cat that easily leapt off onto the ground, and bounced away to attack a few shredded toilet paper rolls scattered across the kitchens tile. You let out the uneasy breath you had been holding, snatching up your notebook and tucking it under your arm before Lady Garbage decided he wanted to claw up paper. You picked up your phone as you eyed the message aglow against the generic tumblr flower screen.

 _'be home in a bit!!'_ coupled with a spam of random emojis that took up the entire rest of the message. And then a spam of messages containing memes and gifs from Yaki.

You frowned as you grabbed your phone off of the counter, turning to walk into the small living room and sprawl against the couch, tossing your device beside you. Yaki really was trying to say sorry in her own way, but you weren't sure if you were ready to _be_ so... forgiving.

The entire argument the night before was stupid, you had to agree, even _if_ you felt that _you_ had been in the right. There was too much you didn't know concerning your dear friend, concerning those mutants that you had once considered the enemy of all good human citizens of New York City. It may have made you a hypocrite since you yourself had been keeping secrets, secrets concerning those... lanky stick figures.

You didn't care though.

Why did Yaki have such a connection with those turtles?

 _'not that i'm_ _jealous_ _, or anything_.' You huffed softly, out loud, sitting upright as you curled your legs into your stomach. You picked gently at a few loose thread along the seams of your sweats and waited.

You didn't have to wait long.

The jangle of keys stabbing at a doorknob, followed by a string of familiar curses in Japanese erupted from the outside of the apartment. You didn't offer your usual help as the door was finally kicked open, ( _that's_ _the third broken lock this year_ ) with an overwhelmed Yaki shuffling in. Loaded with giant bags filled with groceries, a red adidas cap pulled over her messy chaotic black hair. She let out a loud sigh, nibbling on her bottom lip as her uneasy brown eyes flickered over to the sulking teenager on the couch. She kicked the door closed behind her and shuffled over to the small bar like counter, dumping the bags, along with its contents, unceremoniously.

A pleasant meow erupted from Lady Garbage as he rubbed his fur against the beige baggy trousers of Yaki. The woman simply smiled down at her little baby boy, crouching as her weathered joints groaned as she began to pepper his little face with kisses.

You grimaced at the incessant shedding that freckled the beaten down carpet with orange and white, quietly praying that you would hopefully develop some kind of allergy to have an excuse to get _rid_ of him. That cocky fat boy who would steal pieces of chicken from _your_ beautifully homemade chipotle bowls!

"I'm... Sorry I snapped at you, last night." The words came tumbling out of your chapped lips as you fidgeted on the black couch, the cheap synthetic leather scratched apart by the cat that nibbled on Yaki's socks.

Yaki paused, having ripped open a brand new carton of Oreos with about three cookies crammed into her mouth. She chewed slowly, frantically wiping away crumbs from her lips as she slapped the carton shut. "Um..." She mumbled, cursing her brain that simply pushed down these types of problems- because it was easier to _forget_ than to dwell on them. "It's my fault, kid. I should've just told you everything, immediately." She made a one armed shrug, her back facing you as she began to pull bags of vegetables, fruit, bread, and about five packets of mozzarella cheese from the depths of the grocery bags.

You were quiet; silently agreeing though you weren't going to make that known. You didn't _want_ another argument that led to Yaki getting mad at you and locking herself in the only bathroom they had, blasting Billie Ellish in spite, and using up all the hot water in the shower. You had resorted to sliding apology notes covered with depressed doodles into the bathroom, (with Lady Garbage loudly yowling and scratching at the cheap bathroom door), until Yaki had finally emerged.

"Maybe, but I know you're the type of person who likes to keep secrets, well, _secrets_." You pointed out, pulling out a sharpie from it's stash stuffed in between the couch of the old couch and began to doodle on your paint decorated sweats.

Yaki wrangled a Pepsi can from one of the bags, striding over to her forest green, cat hair destroyed recliner as she threw herself against it, sprawled across the seat horizontally. Lady Garbage waddled over, bits of cardboard across his mouth as he bounced into the lap of Yaki, curling himself into a ball. He let out a small purr as he eyed you smugly. Yaki snapped open the top of the can, taking a long drink. "So are you, Baba." She sighed.

There was a heavy silence between you both as you stared at your friend. Did she know? No. It wasn't _possible_. _Sureee_ , you had a _difficult_ time keeping secrets, but you were trying- because if you _revealed_ to your friend the _things_ that you saw; you were sure you would be locked up in a mental hospital. It was what you deserved honestly.

Yaki stroked the purring head of Lady Garbage, who had tucked his little face in between his folded paws, snoozing quietly. She straightened, slipping off the black jacket she had thrown on that morning, revealing a tight tank top that was most definitely _yours_.

"I know you have a lot of... questions." The woman began, slumping against the cushion of the recliner with a tired gaze.

"And I know you won't _answer_ any of them." You finished off with a grumble, raising your eyebrows as you scrolled around on your iPhone, trying to derive your attention from the anger welling up in your chest.

"No." Yaki leaned forward, the stolen tank top sliding down off of her shoulder to reveal pieces of black leather painfully strapped around her flat chest. Her face was blank, her eyes devoid of emotion as she looked upon you, her friend. "I'm going to answer the one question you've had since you first met Leo."

"How you _knew_ him already?" You huffed, looking up from your phone, a blue message left on read plastered across the screen.

"Yup. I mean, I know it's the reason why you were pissed off so much last night." She held up a hand as you, once again, began to argue. "You weren't angry at the fact that I was already in a relationship with Raph, or that I've known his brothers for... a while. You were mad that I've kept this secret from you, that you didn't know everything, you nerd. You always have the answers, and this time, you didn't."

You glared at your phone, your thumb pressed against the small screen keyboard- Leo's message burned into your retinas. She was right. You had been _that_ kid in public school that was always ahead of your classmates, head flooded with answers derived from hours of reading and research. The one that your friends came to for emotional and relationship advice and support. Even if you weren't the most... _stable_ person to be around, even though you had _never_ been in a relationship before.

Now though, you were just... _confused_. You had been since day one. Moving to a new city, having to make new friends, having to find your new favorite coffee shop, your new favorite library and bookstore, your new favorite grocery store- and now this. Mutants, paint creatures, developing friendships- and now, people that you would probably be forced to befriend by Yaki

" _Fine."_ You scoffed softly, ever the suffering artist. "Tell me the story, then. How did you meet Leo and... the rest of them." You sighed, leaning back into the couch as you stretched, allowing your phone to drop from your hand onto the cushion. The text message remained unanswered, still left on read. As it had been for the past eighteen hours.

Yaki gave you a small smile, stretching at the corners of her scarred lips, as she took another sip from her Pepsi can. "It happened thirteen months ago. March. It was Cold as _hell_ that night." She let out a sigh, her head dropping backward against the edge of the top small recliner, her legs spread out in front of her. "I had sent you with Isidore to take him home, to hopefully force you two to bond and become friends. You were tired, and it was your second week working at Murakami's-"

"A man had screamed at me that day for not giving him 'enough' dumplings and I spent the rest of the day crying in the pantry..." You muttered, pushing your hands through your dirty hair, as your eyebrows furrowed together. Your cheeks darkened as that one horrible memory in particular came flooding back.

"Yeah. That day." Yaki frowned, tilting her head as she began to drag her lanky fingers through Lady Garbages majestic hair.

"What happened when I left? You never wanted to talk about it." You gave a casual shrug to your friend, trying to hide your curiosity though it was all you really radiated. Yaki had come home silent and expressionless, and you couldn't have ignored the bruises on your friends knuckles, and the blood that had covered her face, almost in a murderous manner.

Yaki let out a sigh as she adjusted the heavy cat on her lap, her long legs digging into the dirty carpet of the apartment. No matter how many hours were spent vacuuming and digging out the dirt, it was still... _crunchy_. "It was about eleven o'clock, and I was in the pantry cleaning up. That's when I heard voices."

* * *

Yaki labored over a large metal pot littered with unwashable filth, even though it had been soaking in water for the past hour, it refused to become clean. Even with her strength acquired from years of training underneath the most cruelest of teachers and mentors, it was not enough to take out the grimy sticky rice stains. It was futile but Yaki was stubborn as hell, really, she was digging her own grave. Her forearms burned and her hunched over back ached terribly, but she refused to let _rice_ beat her- not again.

Yaki let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping as she straightened, banging the pot filled with water onto the counter near the large industrial sink. She stretched, placing her hands on her hips as she quickly popped out an earbud, Panic! At The Disco blaring at unhealthy levels of noise. She eyed all the newly cleaned dishes and bowls, laid out on towels over the counters to dry out. The pungent reek of bleach attacking her nostrils, combined with the scent of the garbage bags right outside the pantry door waiting for her to bring outside. She would had made Isidore and you do such a task if she hadn't sent you both home. It would be good for you two to bond, good for the both of you to befriend one another. For Isidore because he found it difficult to make lasting friendships with his blunt stoic personality, and you, as you had only recently moved from your hometown a mere four weeks before.

Her earbuds hung around her neck lazily, as she grabbed her phone from her back pocket and paused it. A veil of silence fell across the restaurant as Yaki closed her eyes, tilted her head back and sighed. Peace. She hadn't experienced that ever since her best friend moved in. Sure, she loved the kid and had been glad to open her home to you after all that drama with your family- but Yaki enjoyed being alone. She wasn't good at making friends, terrible at committed relationships- and just wasn't the best person. The facade she held to keep you smiling was already paining Yaki- and though she had kept it that way for eight years, it was easier to do so over texting, calls, and face time than actually _with_ you.

Yaki frowned as her eyes fluttered open. She could hear voices coming from the hallway attached to the pantry. It wasn't just Murakami speaking, and it wasn't even in English.

There was an argument brewing, all in Japanese, in the gravely tones that could only be attributed to gang members. Purple Dragons.

Yaki let out an annoyed sigh, twisted with a pain filled groan as she tilted her head backward, her eyelashes fluttering. Not those nitwits again. She really thought she had left it all behind all those years ago. Guess she had to deal with them _again_. Yaki pushed her fingers across her freshly shaved head, and down her face as she tugged at the bags beneath her reddish brown eyes. She smacked her lips as she turned on the heels of her sneakered feet, moving towards the pantry door slowly. She pressed her hand against the door, pushing it open a mere inch and peaked out.

"Anata wa 40-nen ijō shiharaimashita!!" Barked the leader, his voice layered with a heavy Brooklyn accent that made his words a bit more awkward. His greasy black hair was up in a bun, and the many tattoos covering his face only seemed to highlight his scars. He prodded at Murakami's neck with a rusted dagger, a dribble of blood going down the fearless restaurant owners neck, who did not seem to fear death or the man towering over him. "Naze anata wa ima yamete iru nodesu ka?" His voice softened, as if he was genuinely worried about what he would have to do to Murakami- now that he refused to pay up his fee to the Purple Dragons.

The other two henchmen grunted and nodded, standing near their boss as another tore open metal cabinets and lockers, rummaging through for the money they were owed for being on their turf. Yaki recognized each and every one of them.

The leader was Amani. The last time she saw him she had been pummeling his face in as her Mother and the Shredder looked on. She remembered feeling the bones in her hands break as his nose snapped and his front teeth flew. She still remembered tossing his body aside, breathing heavily, as she awaited for the approval of two of the most prominent people in her lives. She remembered _killing_ Amani.

So why was he here? Breathing, moving, with all of his teeth, somehow, _intact_?

Yaki put the tip of her shoe in between the pantry door and doorway, cracking her knuckles silently. She leaned forward, her nose poking through the slit in between the door and the frame, quietly waiting for her moment to truly shine. She was going to make sure he would have to wear dentures for the rest of his short lived life.

Murakami knew that she was crouching behind the pantry door, (she really just had this vibe that Murakami had learned to recognize ever since she was a hungry seven year old stealing old frozen dumplings from the garbage bins) as he simply stepped to the side. He paid no attention to the dirty knife that pressed dangerously into his neck, arms crossed over his vegetable stained chest as Yaki exploded from the pantry, tackling Amani.

The leader, that moments before had been ready to slit Murakami's throat, since the restaurant owner had stayed mute to his simple question, had now been thrown. The gangster groaned as his back slammed into the plastic ground, his eyes flying open and widening at the sight of Yaki- recognizing the horror that pinned him to the ground- as he began to scream.

The two henchmen stood by dumb founded, the one with bleached platinum blond hair who had found a large bag of Doritos and was now stuffing his face, and pushed past the two petrified henchmen. He chewed loudly, spittle and bits of food flying from his face as he eyed the six foot dark skinned woman destroying his bosses face. "Ey!" He shoved one of the henchman beside him, one with bright purple hair and lots and lots of piercings. "Ain't that Ayumi's kid?"

The henchman to his left, the name ' _Bilyee_ ' tattooed onto his right temple, blinked slowly, hands on his hips as he eyed the masculine appearing woman tussling with their six foot three boss. "I thought Ayumi had a girl."

"That _is_ a girl, stupid!" The blond haired henchman snapped over the sound of their boss screaming bloody murder and trying to push Yaki off of him, all while crying out that it would be in her best interest not to destroy his face once again.

"Girls ain't bald!" Huffed the purple haired one, crossing his arms over his blood splattered vest.

"Well _this_ one is!"

Bickering soon exploded from the three, who only had a combined brain cell count of two. They didn't seem to notice the blind man sneaking away.

Amani kneed Yaki in the abdomen, rolling out from underneath her as she took a spare moment to cough up some blood onto the off-white plastic floor. The man rolled onto his stomach, propping himself upward, the unequivocal expression of fear etched into his greasy scarred features. " _GET MURAKAMI!"_

The three henchmen all looked to their left to where the blind owner had once stood- only to find him gone. The blond haired one whirled around, and swiftly had a fire extinguisher slammed into his forehead- instantly knocking him out. The gang member dropped like a rock against the ground, Doritos flying from the bag clutched in his hand. The other henchmen stared at their fellow comrade dumb founded, before slowly looking up at the older man wielding the metal extinguisher as if he had used it as a weapon before.

Amani scrambled up to his feet, blood flowing freely from his bent nose, as he swayed side to side, shaking his head. "Do something!" He shouted, yanking a smaller dagger tucked into his pants, swirling around to face Yaki.

The woman grinned through blood stained teeth and slammed her elbow into the man's throat. Amani stumbled backward as he wrapped his hands around his tattooed neck, wheezing for breath. Yaki took in a breath, and kneed him in the stomach, digging her nails into his shoulders and slamming him into a wall lined with storage shelves. Vegetables tumbled free from their cardboard boxes, fresh fruits scattered across the linoleum ground. He sunk quickly to the floor, struggling to breath with a nose stuffed with clotting blood, and a strangled up throat. Yaki smoked down at him and patted his cheek affectionately. "It's _good_ to see you alive, Amani." She spat with poisonous amounts of sarcasm.

"Hey!" A shaky unsure voice suddenly shouted, as Yaki simply sighed in annoyance _(why her?)_ and turned her head, straightening.

Her cocky gaze fell as she came face to face with a glock, wielded by a shorter, angry, tattooed man. He pressed the tip of the cold metal against her forehead that glistened with sweat and oil, his bulky chest heaving. God, did he _stink_. It brought back too many memories of home. Booze. Smoke. Blood.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she pushed those memories aside, placing her focus on the gang member. She didn't recall his name since he didn't matter. He would be _dead_ soon anyway.

"Hey." Yaki quipped in reply, as left her hand shot out and wrapped around the mans wrist, swiftly snapping the bone as her right hand wrapped around the mans jacket collar and swiftly threw him into the pantry door. The man screamed as the sound of flesh scraping against linoleum screeched throughout the restaurant.

The last gang member, bright purple hair an eyesore to Yaki who knew that was not a great color on him, stared dumbfounded at the woman who had taken down his... coworkers in a few mere minutes. Sure, he had heard stories of her before he joined the Purple Dragon, but most were myths. Overshadowed by the murder of Yaki's father and the jailing of her mother. The Boss of both the Yakuza and the Purple Dragons. Goddaughter of Oroku Saki. He backed up slowly, stumbling over his knocked out friend, eyeing wearily the blind owner who gripped at the fire extinguisher a bit too eagerly, and took off. Slamming through the cracked open alleyway door, into the freezing noisy night.

Yaki sighed as the tension in her shoulders released, her hands gripping at the nose of her neck as she massages the sore muscles slowly. It had been years since she had been in a fight like that. A fight where she had to take down multiple men in hand to hand combat, through Mura had certainly been a big help. Murakami gave her a small smile, reaching for his apron to wipe away the dripping blood off the bottom of the large red can.

Amani coughed up blood all over Yaki's scuffed Jordan's, wheezing and choking. She probably broke one of his ribs- it wouldn't have been the first time she had done such a thing to him. Maybe she had gotten carried away, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. Yaki sighed as she looked down at her once black, red speckled shoes, turning as she took a few steps forward. She grabbed Amani by his greasy long hair, holding back a shudder at how slick it felt in her grip, yanking his head to gaze upon her.

"This wasn't a coincidence Amani," her voice spat out, flicking his forehead as his eyes began to glaze over. " _Look at me_!" She shouted as he shook his head swiftly and looked upon her, blinking rapidly. "You didn't come here to demand money from Mr. Ittoku Murakami-san." The name spat from her lips, foreign and unknown as the restaurant owner stiffened up. He would have glared at her if he wasn't wearing large tinted glasses. Maybe he could just throw the fire extinguisher into her general vicinity and hope that it smacked her.

Amani's mouth slacked open in protest, as Yaki swiftly slapped him without remorse, feeling the sting of his skin against the palm of her hand. "I know about Murakami-San's past. His mistakes, his _trespasses_. You _don't_ have to remind me." Her barred teeth hissed out, her free hand that wasn't drenched in oil and dandruff, reached towards the leather strips wrapped around her chest, that hid one dagger pressed against her skin.

Amani shook his head, his mouth slacking once more as he simply pointed at the doorway to his right. The door leading to the side alley was wide open. And there, standing in the sickly yellow light of the streets, in complete and utter awe with the same gaze he had held when they first met as children.

Raphael was standing there, the purple haired gang member in a headlock that had rendered the teenager unconscious. The mutant tilted his head, the cold air leaking in from the outside world, his breath letting out cold puffs of air that seemed to belong on canvas.

"S..." he began, his eyes glinting with uncertainty as he dropped the passed out gang member onto the linoleum floor. "Sukiyaki?" A breathless chuckle erupted from his lips, eyes shining with recognition against red tattered cloth.

Yaki and the dazed Amani looked upon each other, as she gazed upon Raph. Raphael freaking Hamato, back from the so called dead. Reeking of motor oil and cigarette smoke as usual. She was smiling up at him and it kind of hurt her blood freckled face. "Uh... Yeah."

* * *

"But wait. What about the rest of the guys?" You questioned, leaning forward even though you were on the edge of the couch. You couldn't keep back the excitement you felt at _finally_ learning more about Yaki, all this new information, this new trust forming between them. There was more information in this little backstory than what you had learned about her your over the past year when you had first started living with her.

"He was on patrol, alone, that night. Just, looking for trouble- and of course, he found me." A small smile twitched on her lips as she gazed at the ground. "After we had a few hours alone together," Yaki sighed, toying with the end of her tank top, as Lady Garbage attacked her hands with little remorse. Yaki bapped his nose and then unceremoniously shoved him off of her thighs, with an amused smile. "He called them up and we all had a bit of a reunion. I hadn't seen any of them in over two years, I thought they had all been killed by... That big shiny a-hols that gets off on being called 'The Shredder.'" She was becoming more uneasy, a sort of a sickly glaze coming over her dark brown skin, as she ran her shaking fingers through her curling black hair, pushing off her baseball cap onto the carpet. Lady Garbage attacked the foe of red and dragged the hat away to his domain.

You fell silent after that. You knew a bit about the man named after a machine that tore apart letters, magazines, and paper beyond recognition. You knew from the flat screen tv in her living room, in your own mansion sized house, sitting with your terrified parents as you all watched the attacks that had gone down in New York City. Aliens, mutants, gangs- every _year_ it had been something new to watch unfold on the news. As common as watching the Times Square Ball fall on midnight of every new year. Of _course_ you remembered the invasion. Seeing that villains glimmering steel captured on shaking video cameras, phones, and helicopters from the sky. Seeing the bodies scattered across the streets, broadcasted throughout national television as brave reporters ventured out for answers. You wouldn't ask Yaki again for a while, that you knew. You didn't want to trigger those memories that the woman had buried down deep, for years.

"And... Raph?"

"I asked him out not even a month after we reconnected," Yaki shrugged, adjusting the spaghetti straps of her tank top over her chest. "It was really nice, and it was like, 'how had I ever truly lived without him?' And then..." The woman scoffed quietly and waved her hand in the air, rolling her eyes. "I messed things up, like I always do." The hurt flooded her eyes underneath long curling eyelashes stained with cheap mascara.

You frowned, your shoulders slumping as she stood, putting your hands on your hips- _indignant_ that your friend would think of herself in such a way. "Now wait a gosh darn minute-" You began, welling up the courage to begin a five minute speech on why Yaki was wrong, and why believing such a degrading poisonous thought was stupid, which made her _unfathomably_ dumb.

"You _didn't_ mess things up." Began a scratchy gruff voice. "I did."

You snapped up at the sound of a male voice invading the all female (save for the grumpy cat) apartment safe place, and screamed at the sight of the mutant that looked like Leo's identical twin without the charm or kindness. You knocked herself backward out of pure instinct and fell onto the couch, eyes wide. How did he get _in_?

Yaki spun around in her recliner, grabbing onto the edge of the chair as she scoffed. "Raphael!" She grumbled, more annoyed than surprised as her eyes fell onto the lounging long orange haired cat sprawled comfortably in his arms. "Put _down_ my cat." She growled, slowly rising as she stood on the recliner, towering at about seven feet over the poor five foot two mutant.

Raphael's scarred mouth twitched as he tilted his head underneath his red hoodie, his free hand stroking the little fluffy head of the purring cat. "He was my cat _first_ Suki, you stole him from me. Or, do you not remember?" His voice seemed to be rising with every octave and yet his expressions were dull, more annoyed than angry at this game that they kept playing.

"Oh please." Yaki barked out a laugh, rolling her eyes as she stepped onto the arm of the recliner, balancing with her Pepsi styled socks. "That's because you _stole_ my favorite leather jacket!" She was reusing the same old excuse and they both knew it.

"Okay!" You yelled, bouncing to your feet as you clapped her hands loudly, multiple times, to get some kind of order. "I'm going to my room," You pointed at the two of them, an uneasy smile on your lips. "Try not to kill each other while you fix your relationship. Kay?" You looked at each of them for an answer, feeling a sort of apology in Yaki's gaze and just pure annoyance in Raph's.

The couple glared at one another with a burning intensity as you awkwardly shuffled by, lips pursed, before you broke off into a sprint down the hallway. The large window was cracked open a bit, allowing a flow of spring air into the vicinity. So _that's_ how he got in. You always assumed that it was locked, but, _apparently,_ not. You pushed open the door to the bedroom, and turned around to slam it shut. Your shoulders slumped as you let out a relieved sigh, before starting up once again as an argument exploded from the living room- probably alarming their neighbors.

"Uh... Hi."

You spun around and shrieked again, slamming your back into the door as you dropped to the ground. You tried to regain your breathing as you glared up at the apologetic and very concerned six foot four giant mutant towering over you, his hands in mid reach for you. "Jesus Christ! _What_ is with you mutants and scaring the living _hell_ out of me?" You snapped, slowly sitting up as you pressed the small of your back against the cheap white bedroom door, hugging your knees to your chest.

"Sorry." Donatello sighed, also sitting on the carpeted ground, as awkward as ever as he tugged at his purple sweater that was unfortunately too tall for a man like him. "I thought Raph told you I was in here, but he-" he was interrupted by a sudden rising yell that demanded silence that quickly fell over the apartment. Donnie rolled his eyes, crossing his lanky arms over his chest. "He's _busy_."

You let out a tired, wistful chuckle, kneading the flesh between your eyebrows, shaking your head. "Were they always like this?" You exhaled, glancing up at the mutant.

"No." Donatello bluntly spoke, giving a broad one armed shrug at you. "They're just both stubborn... petty... and _stupidly_ in love; not that they'd care to admit that anytime soon." He glanced at you and gently shook his head. "And before you ask, no, I don't know what they're fighting about either." Though he wished he did, because that _sure_ would make things easier at home.

You nodded slowly, your eyes falling onto the giant unfinished tapestry of your friend, sprawled across the bedroom window. You could understand that. But you weren't here to discuss the relationship problems between your friend and her maybe boyfriend, and you had a feeling that it wasn't Donnie's reason either.

"So... Donnie?" You began with an uncertainty regarding his name, placing your hands in your lap. He nodded once at you, both as a sign that you had rightly guessed his name, and that you should continue with your question. "Did you come into my bedroom to hide from your brothers wrath? Or..." You wondered why he had even accompanied Raph on his trek to his girlfriends house. As a chaperone to make sure that the couple didn't start throwing things at one another? You might say that you yourself could have taken on that role, but you had ducked into your bedroom to hide from their wrath so... Maybe not the _best_ chaperone after all.

Donnie rubbed his hands together, exhaling against his freezing skin. His eyes scanned the room around him, a feeling of nausea rushing over him. Could he really tell you? He barely could believe the revelation himself, and wasn't too comfortable to reveal what had happened to his brothers in fear that they wouldn't take it well, especially after the events of the night before. But you seemed kind, understanding- and someone that Leonardo had probably confided in that he hadn't been able to do with _anyone_ in a long time. Not with his brothers, not with his friends, and not since Splinter had passed away. He couldn't deny the aura of patience and love that just flooded off you, someone that he barely knew, and tainted the entire bedroom. From the mason jars filled with paintbrushes and fake one dollar flowers, to the way the beds were neatly made, and the glaring obvious fact that you had painted your best friend for the outside world to gaze upon. He could see how his brother had quickly attached himself to such a refreshing prescience. You were unlike any other person they had ever met.

Donatello dropped his hands into his lap, ducking his head slightly to try and meet your eyes, considering his height even as he sat down. His mouth suddenly felt dry but he had to push through. He had to tell _somebody_.

You gave him a smile, resting your chin on your propped up right hand, your left hand playing with the flattened down beige carpet that, no matter _how_ many times you vacuumed and shampooed, didn't seem to lose it's retched smell. The smile gave Donnie the strength he needed to continue with the news that, he had a feeling, would shatter your heart.

"Leo's... missing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that this is slowly becoming a Raph x Yaki featuring (Y/n) story and im not sorry about it :P


	8. at this point, everyone needs a hug.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You knew he was in my room, huh?" You gasped. "Didn't even bother warning me?" You spoke with a miffed tone, crossing your arms over your chest.
> 
> "I wanted to hear you scream." And with that horrifying statement and a indiscernible glint in his eyes, he shuffled to the bedroom. The mutant kicked open the door and proceeded to yell 'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DONNIE-' in a tone that would probably alarm the neighbors- and anyone who had the misfortune of being called 'Donnie.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes my gremlin self into your life and casually slides you this chapter*
> 
> I regret nothing.

"What do you mean, ' _Leo's missing_ '?" You demanded, rising to your knees as you held your hips, eyeing the mutant before you. "How do you _lose_ him? Your older _brother_? The _giant identical turtle in your midst_?" Your voice had risen, almost to the same octave of Yaki and Raph arguing in the next room, your eyebrows furrowed. You didn't mean to sound so angry but you couldn't _believe_ that they had simply lost their brother again. You understood why it had occurred last time, because he had been injured, but now you couldn't comprehend why. The text he had sent the night before hadn't indicated anything of Leonardo's mood, only his joy at how much they had bonded together.

"Well there are four of us, it's easy to get confused." Donatello stared at you, unblinking.

You stared at Donatello, your mouth slightly ajar, an eyebrow raised. "Um..."

"That was supposed to be a joke, by the way," Donatello chuckled softly, rubbing his shoulder as he tilted his head to the side with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"It's-it's alright." You laughed quietly, plopping yourself back down onto the floor. "You just don't seem to be the sort of type to make... _Jokes_." You winced softly, wondering if you had overstepped the line with your remark.

"It's my face, isn't it?" Donatello sighed, massaging his temples with a frown. "Ugh, my father always said I always looked too serious, just really grumpy all the time." He quietly grumbled, tugging at the collar of his deep purple sweater.

"Donnie-" You exhaled, shoulders slumping, rubbing your hands along your forearms. Worry was _consuming_ you, as you were desperate to grab any silver of information concerning your dear friend.

"Oh- right," Donnie let out a shrill nervous laugh, quickly clearing his throat. "As I was saying... I went to check up on Leo a few hours ago and- he wasn't in his room." He frowned as he glanced down at the palms of his bandaged hands, exhaling. "He wasn't in the dojo, the tunnels, or _any_ of the rooms."

You nodded your head as if you knew what he was going on about. What the hell was a dojo anyway? Was it anything like the training room from that show, ninjago? It was probably that same room, seeing as they were all... ninjas. ' _Oh wait Donnie's still talking-'_ You thought sheepishly, slightly shaking your head to regain your train of thought concerning Donnie's droning.

" _And_ he disabled the tracker I had on his phone!" Donatello huffed, crossing his arms out of annoyance as he looked up at you. He seemed to be more annoyed at the death of his little tracking device, then of his older brother missing.

"You-" You rubbed your eyes, dragging your hands across your temples, gently shaking your head. "You put a tracker inside of your older brothers phone?" You let out another small flustered, full of disbelief.

"Uh... Yeah." The mutant scoffed, twisting the purple bandanna that was tightly wrapped around his wrist. "He wasn't supposed to _know_ about it, it was simply a precaution to keep him safe."

"Safe? Safe from what?" You questioned cautiously, gently shuffling forward on the hardened carpet that seemed to scratch at your grey sweats.

"Himself." Donatello paused to allow the dramatic revelation to settle, while you merely eyed him, awaiting his next sentence.

"Are you saying... That you think, Leo went out tonight to... hurt himself?" From the little that you knew about him, the thought seemed absolutely absurd. You didn't know whether to laugh or fall back against the carpet full of tears and shock. But who were you to question the man who was literally Leo's brother? He obviously knew the mutant better than you did, and though you had learned much about him through their few days together- it would never be enough... Would it?

"Look, Leonardo is going through a lot right now." Donatello let out a sigh as he propped his elbows up on his knees, leaning forward to eye the girl before him. "Our fathers death... _anniversary_ is coming up in a week. He's going to be repeating our fathers last moments in his head over and over again- and, if he keeps pondering over it, he might lose it. Like last time." He allowed the words to spill, somewhat surprised that he was telling everything to this teenager that he barely knew. But you had a kindness that surrounded you, and that seemed to pull at his sensitive heart as well.

"What... Happened last time?" You twisted your shaking hands into your shirt, a frowning tugging at your lips.

"He..." Donnie looked up at the ceiling for a few long moments, swallowing harshly before looking upon you with remorse. "He cut himself, Y/n."

* * *

"Where do you think you're going, Baba?" Yaki called out, arms crossed over her flat chest as she laid across the couch. Her feet propped up on a few pillows, a yowling cat with his little fluffy head thrown back, standing on her bladder with his heavy little paws. Raphael sat at the small kitchen island, sulking as he dragged his sais across the wooden counter top, leaning the side of his face against his propped up hand.

"Erm... A friend needs me." You gave your friend a quick little smile as you scurried to the kitchen, throwing open the pantry door as you rummaged around. Your trusty pink backpack swayed loosely across your right shoulder, bulging with a coat and other materials. You had switched out your baggy shirt for a warm blue sweater and a large grey trench coat that _obviously_ belonged to six foot Yaki. Your sweats were tucked into a pair of polka dot rain boots, and you had discreetly brushed on some blush and a bit of mascara. You were hoping that neither Raphael or Yaki noticed, or you would be in for the teasing of a lifetime.

"Isidore?" Yaki questioned in worry, sitting up as she turned in her seat to eye her friend, an annoyed Lady Garbage mewing in self pity as he clambered up Yaki's shoulder to nestle himself into her messy short black hair.

"No!" You blurted out, snatching up two packets of ramen and tearing them apart with your fingers. You realized how suspicious you seemed, even as Raphael seemed to be glowering at you, as you simply averted your eyes, clearing your throat. " _Another_ friend."

"Love," Yaki sighed, standing up as she perfectly balanced the napping cat perched on her head. She walked over to the kitchen island, long strides that put her aside an annoyed Raphael, who was rummaging in his jackets pocket. "You don't really _have_ friends."

Rude, but; true.

Raphael stood, pulling the bar stool across the cheap plastic tiles as he rolled a cigarette between his fingers. He popped the tube of cancer into his mouth and quietly chewed on it, leaning against the kitchen wall to put as much space between himself and Yaki.

"You're not supposed to smoke in here." You pointed out, disapproval coating your eyes as you glanced over at Yaki with a look that screamed, ' _this_ is your boyfriend?' You opened open one of the cabinet doors above the stove and pulled out a large pot, placing it against your hip as you hobbled over to the sink to fill it up.

"I'm not." Raphael retorted, a bit whine-y if you might say, with a huffy annoyance as he prodded his finger with his sais, drawing a drop of blood that stained the metal. "I don't do it around her." He nodded to the side over at Yaki, as he flipped his sais in his hand, tucking it neatly away into its holster.

You paused, blinking in surprise as the pot began to overflow with water inside the sink. You hadn't realized that Yaki had an aversion to smoking, though it did make sense why she had once choked out a man at the subway station who had blown his cigarette smoke into her face. By this point, the police had really gotten to know your face and Yaki's shenanigans. It had come to the point where brought home baked goods to the officers whenever you had to bailed out Sukiyaki. 

"My mom was a smoker, Y/n." Yaki shrugged with a sheepish crooked smile, answering the question you had in mind as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. She shuffled from foot to foot, Lady Garbage's long fluffy tail swaying back and forth in front of her face, tickling her nose and lips.

You nodded at the explanation, somewhat jealous that Raph knew a slip of information more than you, _the_ best friend, did. "Dooo you remember the girl I met in the bookstore?" You hummed, shutting off the faucet, tipping the pot over to allow excess water to spill forth. You slammed the pot on the stove, turning up the heat. "Naia?" You hinted, glancing over your shoulder.

Yaki snorted, rolling her eyes as she brushed her curling hair from her eyes. Her hair was much longer when it wasn't flat ironed, gelled and brushed into a whiff. It took her about an hour every morning to get- it was horrible. "Barely."

You took Yaki's pause to glance over at Raphael, who seemed way too invested in how Yaki's dark brown fingers pushed through her messy curls, or how strong her bare shoulders and forearms seemed to be. You didn't know whether to gag or awe in slight joy, preferring to continue with your lame excuse of getting Yaki off of your back. "She needs help with some..." You paused, not sure what your imaginary friend needed help with. "Studying for an exam- civics, you know? My favorite... _thing_." You pinched yourself in annoyance as you opened up another cabinet, stuffed to the brim with herbs that you grabbed and mixed their contents in with the pot full of water.

"Mm." Yaki grunted in slight suspicion, pulling forward one of the bar stools as she slid easily onto the hard wooden seat. She propped up her chin onto her hands, lazily watching her friend cook. At least she seemed to pretend that she couldn't notice her sort of boyfriend who seemed to inconspicuously worship every movement she made.

"Hey, what's with up with Raph?" You inquired, fully aware that he was only a few feet away from you, but deciding to be a bit more petty for that ' _when I want a humans opinion, I'll ask'_ comment.

"He's grumpy." Yaki snickered, leaning the right side of her face against her hand, eyeing the pouting mutant turtle with a little teasing smile.

"Why?" You inquired, opening the small white fridge littered with magnets, notes, and collages and school related art projects that Mason had specifically created only for Yaki.

"He wants some of my homemade pocky and I don't want to make it." Yaki grinned cheekily, chewing on her thumb as she winked over at Raphael, who simply glared back with a flushed face, shuffling nearer and nearer to the bedroom that Donnie was rummaging through.

"Can't he do it himself?" You scoffed in surprise, grabbing a few glass containers filled with cut up green onions, mushrooms, and garlic. "We have all the ingredients here anyway." You pointed out, as you peeled off the plastic tops of the tupperware and dumped the resulting concoction into the boiling water.

"I like the way she makes it..." Raphael's sulking voice mumbled out, his brow furrowing as he shuffled behind Yaki to caress the napping head of Lady Garbage, who soon awakened and became annoyed by Raph's presence. Even with Yaki seated, Raphael still wasn't tall enough to even tower over his kind of girlfriend.

"Aw poor thing." You clicked your tongue, pulling a wooden spoon from its drawer, as you scraped the Tupperware free of any excess vegetables and stirring the pot. "C'mon Yaki, charm the man." You pleaded quietly, sure that you were only humoring Raphael for the sake of Donatello's sanity.

"I've already charmed him enough." Yaki scoffed with a grimace, scrunching up her shoulders as Raph attempted to wrestle a yowling Lady Garbage's claws that had dug into her scalp.

"So..." You hummed, dumping out the hardened block of ramen noodles into the pot. "I'm assuming you two made up?" You quietly hoped that they did. You didn't know if you could handle any more of their arguing. Besides, you did _want_ Yaki to be happy. Though, by the looks of things, Raphael hadn't given you any good reason that his relationship with Sukiyaki was worth it.

"Not really." Yaki answered back with a frown, kneading her temples with her fingers as an annoyed Raphael wrestled the screeching cat into a forced cuddle.

"What?" You began in horror, holding onto the edge of the stove. ' _Maybe they'll break up and Yaki will be yours again_!' Your brain chirped, forcing you to pause and reevaluate your intentions. Did you really not want Raphael and Yaki together? Were you really jealous at the fact that these two had a better, closer, much more longer relationship then you had with Yak-Yak?

"We're talking to you, but not to each other." Quipped the woman with a frown and a raised messy eyebrow. She folded her arms as she leaned them against the wooden counter top, totally indifferent to the fight scene occurring behind her as Raphael and Lady Garbage tussled across the carpet.

"Come _on_ you guys!" You sighed, pushing yourself off the stove as you moved towards the small kitchen island, planting your hands against it as you leaned forward, to gaze upon your best friend and confidante. "This _has_ to stop already. You can't keep avoiding one another like this. Don't you want to fix your relationship?" You demanded, poking Yaki's nose.

"It's _way_ more complicated than that, Y/n." Raphael spoke, standing up as he cradled a snoozing Lady Garbage in his strong arms, his face and neck covered in angry red scratches. "It's not like ya _know_ the whole story." He sniffed loudly, eyeing the young girl with only _slight_ displeasure.

"What I _do_ know is that you two love each other very much-" You snapped, quite frankly fantasying the day you would be able to strangle that very annoying brother of Leonardo, narrowing your eyes as you pointed from a flustered Yaki to a huffy Raphael. "And that this petty little squabble over a _cat_ and a freakin' leather _jacket_ isn't necessary."

"It's _not_ about that." Raphael began, his eyes flashing with a pent up anger that seemed to be hiding a deep sadness. "It's the fact that she doesn't..." The mutant paused with a sigh, the rage melting away and being replaced by a hurtful indifference. "I'm going to check on Donnie." He muttered, hunching over as he bundled his precious pet to his plastron, glaring over at you as if it was _your_ fault for his sudden change in mood.

"You _knew_ he was in my room, huh?" You Gasped as if he had just declared that he had dumped all your paints down the drain, as you began to realize how _sweaty_ you were under your sweater and winter jacket.. "Didn't even bother warning me?" You spoke with a miffed tone, crossing your arms over your chest, your face twisting up as you tried to bite back the pout that was _threatening_ to erupt.

"I wanted to hear you scream." And with that horrifying statement and a indiscernible glint in his eyes, he shuffled to the bedroom. Cooing over his little fur baby who laid on was sprawled across on little back, batting at the chewed up cigarette that hung out of Raph's mouth. The mutant soon kicked open the door and proceeded to yell 'WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU DOING DONNIE-' in a tone that would probably alarm the neighbors- and anyone who had the misfortune of being called 'Donnie.'

"Don't mind him, he's just teasing you." Yaki scoffed slightly, her hand reaching out your wrist; a wrist that was attached to a raised clenched hand that clutched a rolling pin, coupled with a face of annoyance or sweaty rage. "Plus, it doesn't help that he's still pissed off at me. And Leo. And everyone in the vicinity of New York City." Yaki hummed, shrugging sheepishly as she easily wrestled away the rolling pin and stuffed it down her leather chest binder.

"Including me?" You couldn't help but allow the childish sadness to leak through her tone. Sure, you didn't necessarily _like_ Raphael, and honestly believed that _anyone else_ would be a better partner to Yaki, your amazing, beautiful, bad-ass of a best friend- but who were _you_ to judge Yaki's choice in men?

"Of course not." Yaki huffed, seemingly annoyed at the question. "I've told him all about you since we were kids. He knows you as well as I know you." She chirped, separating long tendrils of cat hair from her own ebony black hair, tossing them aside to flutter to the ground.

"That doesn't exactly... " You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing as you eyed the empty hallway that contained one room where many things were being knocked over and tossed into walls. "Comfort me."

"You'll get used to him." Smiled the dark skinned young woman, as she began to lovingly trace her fingers along the long indents that Raph had carved into the counter top.

"I can't _do_ that if you two aren't really together." You retorted with a slight smugness, moving back to the stove, plucking a spoon from the open drawer to dip into the boiling soup.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll get over it." Yaki shrugged once more, plucking at the straps of her tank top before pausing for a moment. Raphael had carved multiple little hearts into the wood, alongside the little pencil drawn name that she had sketched when she had first moved into the apartment. She cleared her throat, looking up at her friend with a slight... raw expression across her face, which disappeared as quickly as it had attacked Yaki. "Sure, we've been fighting for about... six months, but-"

"Six _months_?" You erupted, clutching your spoon in your hand as you waved it about in pure disbelief. " _Yaki_!" You scolded, seemingly the _adult_ in this situation. What was up with these terrible relationships? First your parents and now this _mess_!

"What?" Yaki stared at her friend wide eyed, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as she sat upright.

"I- He's your boyfriend!" You swiftly smacked your forehead with the metal spoon, letting out a small hiss at how much it stung. "Ugh, never mind." You paused. You slowly turned to the small digital clock above the stove and froze. ' _LEO! You forgot about Leo you idiot! Is the fact that Donnie told you he thinks Leo's gonna cut himself again not enough to get you moving faster!?_ ' screeched your conscience, it's tone clawing it's metaphorical nails down your spine. "I have to go!" You squeaked, throwing open the cabinet doors above you to rummage through for two thermos's- one a light pink, the other blue.

"Y/n..." Yaki began, slumping forward as she perched her elbows against the scuffed countertop, not at all fazed at your sudden change in mood, it occurred more often then one would think. "Like Raph said, there are some things you don't understand." Exhaled the woman, feeling the weight of twenty years chew away at her confidence.

"No, _Adachi_ 'Nessie' 'Sukiyaki' Ashika-Shojikiya-Kareem." You suddenly snapped, ladling ramen into the thermoses, slamming on the tops and twisting them on with great anger. You swifty turned around, marching towards Yaki and grabbing the woman's bare shoulders. "I do _understand_ , because I know the type of person _you_ are."

Yaki was silent, staring at her friend with wide, hurt eyes, decorated with purple bags and one with a small little scar.

"He told you that he loved you, didn't he?" You spoke slowly, releasing Yaki's shoulders, leaning back with widened eyes, your mouth slightly ajar. You couldn't imagine anyone saying that they loved _you_. ' _What about Le_ -' began your cheeky conscience, to which it received a slap on your own head. "shut up!" You hissed to herself- before quickly realizing how insane you sounded. Luckily, Yaki was too horrified at the realization that anyone could love her.

"Maybe." Muttered the woman, gently sinking in the bar stool, scratching the side of her head, her cheeks flushing red in embarrassment.

"And you didn't say it back, right?" You pointed out, gently playing with your hands as you looked down at the counter top, before glancing up at Yaki.

"Well..." She winced, covering her face with her hands, letting out a small, yet pained, groan.

"Yaki." You sharply spoke, suspicion filling your eyes as you narrowed them, leaning forward. "What did you do?"

"I... I may have, sort of..." Sukiyaki pressed her hands against her reddened cheeks, trying to ease the heat with her cold skin. "You know, panicked, and pushed him off a roof into a garbage bin, and then avoided him for a month..."

You pressed your hands against your face, slowly shaking your head back and forth in utter disbelief. In all the years that you had known this insane, chaotic woman- this was the stupidest thing that she had _ever_ done. "... Are you _kidding_ me?"

"I... wish I was." She winced. "But, I don't think he's mad about the whole, pushing him off a building..." Began Yaki, rubbing her shoulder as she avoided eye contact with the disappointed teenager in front of her, knowing that at this moment, she was vulnerable and sharing way too much personal information for one day. It was exhausting.

"I mean, that might be _one_ of the reasons." You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you kneaded the nape of your neck with your fingers. Man, this backpack was _really_ digging into your shoulder. You should just switch it to your other shoulder and race off to save your mutant damsel in distress, but right now; the happiness of your best friend and the woman you loved as a big sister needed your help.

Yaki sighed. "Raph is... really delicate when it comes to his feelings and expressing them. And... I guess he didn't quite appreciate the reaction he got from me when, just this _once_ , he tried to show that he loved me. But I... I couldn't say it back." The shame that Yaki has been with holding for months was suddenly punching her in the face, and already her eyes burned with the realization that maybe, this was it for herself and Raphael. That because she couldn't say one simple, stupid word, she would lose one of the few things that made her happy. Yaki angrily pushed her fists into her eyes before staring with melancholy at the scratched up counter top. She gently tapped the little carved hearts with a small smile, her vision blurring. Her heart was simply racing of everything that Raphael meant to her, every little memory, even the one of her shoving Raphael off that rooftop was funny in its own way. But all Sukiyaki truly felt was shame and anger. Anger at her mother for creating this broken woman who couldn't even say 'I love you' back to the guy who never judged her. Never belittled her masculine looks, never questioned why she wrapped leather around her chest since she was a child, and never once looked at her without that hint of adoration and love in his eyes. Raphael was perfect for her, she realized. But if he couldn't accept the stupid, trauma laced reasoning for her not being able to repeat a phrase that had been difficult for Raphael to conjure up, then it wouldn't be worth staying together.

"Seems like you need a little bit of time for yourself." You spoke softly, reaching out to grab the scarred, yet surprisingly soft hand of Yaki in your grasp, squeezing it tightly. With your other hand, you pushed forward a bowl of soup. "... And some ramen."

* * *

Your hands tightened around the drawstrings of your blue hoodie, burrowing your nose in the collar of your sweater. Your fingers were numb from the cold that blew through the threads of your clothes, sinking into your bones. You gazed upward at the city that towered above you, looming with an intensity that was aglow in the hollow windows of the thousands of buildings that peppered Manhattan. A city that you had grown to love through books, movies, and tv shows- only ever being a drive away.

Now, you were on a mission. Walking alone, with a backpack full of items. It was only eight in the evening, a Monday, yet the street you walked upon were filled with only a few stragglers. Strangers that you eyed with only suspicion as you hurried by. Never had you been alone on the streets of Manhattan, especially at night, without Yaki. Sure, it may have been you simply fretting over the many news stories that your mother had sent to you in your first few weeks of you moving to Manhattan, but you were simply a teenage girl; alone, with little ways of defending yourself.

The street began to divide into two, revealing a plot of land surrounded by a metal fence, littered with oak trees devoid of leaves, and graves. You suddenly felt ill. You had too many memories of graveyards, filled with generations of your family- and the boy who had ripped your innocence away from you. You swallowed down the bile that was welling up in your throat, and quickened your pace. There was a small nagging part of yourself _annoyed_ for spending such a long time with sukiyaki- but it was worth it... wasn't it? Would it have been better to run after a newly found friend, or to support an old one? Was Leonardo out there in that graveyard, _cutting_ himself?

You took off into a sprint, your brain conjuring up horrible images of blood, butchered up flesh, and a rusty knife. Were you too late? Did you really waste your time trying to mend a failing relationship when you could have saved Leonardo?

You jumped over the metal fence, feeling the prongs prod at your sweats but ignoring the slight pain and annoyance as you sprinted across the desolate graveyard. Two empty streets curved around the patch of nature, a large church looming before the cemetery. Street lights laid out their sullen yellow light, casting shadows across gravestones, trees, and Leo-

"Leo!" You gasped, forcing yourself to run faster until you were behind the mutant, breathing heavily but overjoyed to see the mutant craning his neck over his shoulder, his eyes wide and mouth ajar as he stared up at you.

"Y/n?"His hoarse voice whispered, and oh how you wanted to grab his face and feel the slightly damp skin under your hands and kiss him until he smiled- ' _okay. woah there. calm down or you're going to start_ _sweating_ _arousal_.' Your conscience mocked, with, good measure, as you recollected herself.

"Um... hi." You smiled, rubbing the back of your neck as you slipped off your backpack and let it fall to the round. You fingered the ends of your sweater, glancing from side to side, your breath creating a white sort of smoke that soon dissipated into the cold air. You wondered if you made the right decision to come. You should've left this whole mess to his brother- but, _wait_ \- Donnie had come to _you_ for help. Did that mean you were already at a level of friendship that meant more then awkwardly sharing a soup? Or were his brothers just too scared to face their depressed brother alone? You let out a small sigh as you glanced around the serene cemetery. It was probably the latter.

"Y/n!" His gaze of confusion soon morphed into one of relief, joy, before twisting into confusion. The oak tree that towered before him allowed its raindrops to coat Leo, dampening the small pile of stones before him. He stood up slowly, pressing his hands against his back as he straightened with a wince. You could almost hear his bones creaked and quietly wondered how long he had been situated in that hunched over position for. "You- You're not supposed to _be_ here." He took a step forward, his puffy eyes scanning your face as his hand reached out to touch your cheek, but froze. He let his hand fall to his side as his skin was filled by the sickly yellow light of the streets. "How... How did you find me?" He questioned softly, twisting the mask that was tied around his wrist in between his fingers. He tilted his head, chewing on his bottom lip as he rocked back and forth on his flat bandaged feet.

"Well... this is kind of awkward but..." You chuckled, twisting your hair between your fingers as you smiled sheepishly at Leo. You took in his mask less face. It was a weird, and yet an oddly a very soft, gentle look- and for some reason his eyes seemed smaller, but that was probably from the puffiness from hours and hours of crying... okay, this got depressing. "When you were telling me about your dad you told me what graveyard he was buried in. I googled it and well... here we are." It seemed simpler than the truth. When you had first met Donnie that fateful night, he had shoved a small transmitter into your hands and started spewing scientific crap before topping it off with the wonderfully chaotic idea of slipping it into a piece of tofu in Leo's vegetable soup. Which you _did_ , because you wanted at least one of Leo's brothers to like you. You hadn't known that Mikey would be so forgiving after the whole, 'attacking-him-with-a-rag-'cause-paint-was-eating-through-his-shell.'

"Look I-" Leonardo exhaled, staring at his bare hands, which he slowly curled into fists. You saw the harsh slits and horizontal scars across his inner wrists and felt your heart sink. Donnie had been right. Sweet, selfless, caring, funny, chaotic, brave Leo was cutting himself. "I appreciate you coming here but," He gave you a small forced smile that quickly melted into a frown. "I'm not sure I want you to see me like..." He motioned to himself; exposing his disheveled state. From his puffy red veined eyes, to his shivering frame in the cold, his shaking hands, and the lack of the padding that usual covered his elbows and knees. He seemed... _naked_ , and you felt yourself blushing. "This."

"Leo." You exhaled, thankful that the darkness and lack of good lighting didn't show off your reddened cheeks. "I literally had a mental breakdown last night in the shower because I pondered a _bit_ too long about that coronavirus. _Nothing_ you can do will faze me. I swear on the grave of my pet fish." You nodded solemnly, pressing your right hand against your chest, jutting chin slightly into the air. You hoped that that it was enough to drag a smile out of him.

"You buried... a _fish_?" Leonardo blinked slowly, the corners of his lips slightly twitching, but alas a joyful smile was replaced with even more confusion.

"I accidentally poisoned him by pouring my moms... ' _Apple juic_ e' into his bowl." You cleared your throat, hoping that your tone of voice was enough to indicate that it was alcohol that had killed poor little Montgomery. "It was the least I could do for him. May he Rest In Peace." You shrugged, as if it was usual for a mother to be such a drinker.

"... I-" Leonardo inhaled, his left eye slightly twitching from the morals that he had learned that your mother _probably_ lacked. He had to hold back the urge to wrap his arms around you and run off with you to a place where you would be safe and happy. Aka, _not_ New York City. "Never mind." He sighed, giving you a small smile, as he tilted his head slightly to the side, as if he was trying to get a better look at you in the depressing lighting that broke through the leaves of the oak tree.

"So..." You began, scuffing your sneaker against the moistened dead grass of the cemetery. You leaned to the side to glance around Leonardo, a small smile on your lips as you glanced up at him. "Can I meet him?"

Leonardo blinked, silent for a few fleeting moments as he glanced over his shoulder, letting out a melancholic sigh. "Of course." He tried to force a sad smile as he rubbed his forearm, but only managed to grimace at her.

"Oh! I forgot!" You hummed, unzipping your backpack and, with a flourish, yanking out a black trench coat. You shuffled forward and slipped it over Leonardo's _surprisingly_ broad shoulders, rubbing your hands against his forearms slowly. Your gazes caught one another before you both looked away with a blush.

"Thank you." Leonardo spoke softly, pulling the ends of the long coat around him, gently ducking his head to quietly admire you.

You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back a smile, (because hey, _this was a cemetery-_ ), as you nodded slowly. You stepped around Leonardo, crouching before the small pile of rocks, tucking your jacket underneath as you sat down on the damp ground. You cleared your throat, adjusting your messy clothes. "Hi there, Mr Splinter Hamato, sensei, Yoshi, Father, Sir." You heard Leonardo snort loudly beside you as you slapped his calf playfully. "My name is Y/n. Y/n L/n. I recently helped out your son when I found him in an alley. He wasn't drunk, sir, we used Yaki's breath analyzer and checked. He was just very hurt, and not himself." You glanced up at Leonardo, who stared at the small makeshift grave with a bitter melancholy etched across his face. "I don't know what happened to you sir, or what has affected your family throughout the years- all I know is that I care for Leonardo and the rest of your boys- and I thank you for raising some of the most kind hearted brothers I have _ever_ had the pleasure of meeting." Your voice fell silent, your words torn away and carried by the slight breeze that rustled through budding spring leaves and beaten down grass. You felt your own eyes burning, surprised that those wonderful words had erupted from you.

You were even _more_ surprised when you felt Leonardo fall to his knees beside you, his strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Tears dampened the shoulder of your sweater, feeling it seep through the cloth and damp your skin. You were stiff and rigid, listening to his hiccuping raggedy breaths, his legs tucked underneath him as he pressed his face into your neck.

"Oh, Leo..." You muttered, relaxing as you snaked your arms around his waist, one hand rubbing circles along his coat covered shell. You rested your chin on his strong shoulder, glancing over at the makeshift gravestone with only sadness, and pity at the life lost. After a few minutes, you managed to loosen an arm from around him, and yanked your backpack towards you, wiggling off the zipper.

"I wanna show you something I made, Leo." You hummed softly, as you both pulled away from another, as you gave him a kind smile and wiped away his tears with your cold fingers.

Leonardo quickly smeared the excess tears across his face, inhaling shakily. As quickly as his meltdown had begun, it quickly dissipated. "Yeah. 'Course."

You slowly pulled out six broken pieces of tamahagane, reflecting the yellow light onto Leo's face of awe. Each piece had an eerily life like personal painting of each member of the Hamato family. From a grumpy Raphael with his arms crossed, red paint smeared around his head as if it was a halo, to a hugging, grinning Yaki and Murakami, black speckled along the silver as if they were stars. The final one was of Splinter, his calm serene expression almost radiating off the thin piece of metal. "You know, Donnie was the one who had to break it to me that your _father_ was a giant mutant rat." You snorted, a sheepish grin spreading across your lips. "And!" You chirped as you took out the two blue handles of Leonardo's katanas, stabbing them into the ground before the grave marker. "A little reminder that not all that is broken, is lost." You hummed, patting your hands against your pajama covered thighs. "So." You quipped, turning your head to look over at Leo with a face of pure joy. "I brought you some of my _special_ homemade ramen- want some?"

Leonardo, who was still staring awestruck at the pieces of painted portraits of katanas spread out before him, then to you, then back to the to painted pieces. "But... You..." He picked up the katana piece of himself, his grinning face surrounded by light blue paint covered with stars and planets, turning it so that it reflected your confused features. "You forget to paint yourself."

You paused, your heart even interrupting its own beating as your nervous energy seemed to screech to a halt. "Leo..." You spoke after an awkward minute of you staring wide eyed at Leonardo. "I'm- not _family_." You chuckled awkwardly, glancing down at the ground.

Leonardo grasped your shoulders, his serious gaze burrowing into yours for a _very_ long moment as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes as you stared dumbfounded, somehow forgetting how to breath.

"Kazoku." His deep voice resonated with the syllables of his native tongue. He pressed his hand to his chest, inhaling deeply, before pressing his hand to yours. "Family. _You're_ family."

You stared at his face, your mouth ajar as you held to your arms to your chest. Well. This was it. You had officially died via his kind sweet words. Were you really worthy of being apart of his crazy hectic family? Did you even deserve the title? But as you looked upon Leonardo, raw and broke, trying to give upon you a name in front of his fathers grave- you knew he meant it. You knew that you were worthy of being his family. You may not have known him for even a week, but already, you knew that he was going to your friend- forever. "Okay." You pressed your hand over his, the one that pressed your chest, draping the other arm around his neck.

"Family." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so yeah, i've been gone for months as we are in the midst of a pandemic, and i have been at home doing nothing but eat and watch musicals. Uhhh, sorry for the late update and if you are wondering where our bastard stick figure babes went- dont worry! they're coming for you. :)
> 
> (also! it has come to my attention that there are sentences that use 'she' and 'her' in this book, and that is because these chapters were rewritten by me at 11 at night into this second person point of view. Please be patient with me as i try and find these mistakes! im sixteen, without a beta, and i have anxiety- so about half the people on this site.)


	9. what's worse- gangsters or stick figures? stay tuned to find out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should talk to those goons." Leonardo pointed out, on the same train of thought as his brother.
> 
> "Goons? What are you? An Italian mobster from the 1930's?"

Isidore hated... _people_.

From the various men and women, (who didn't seem to _understand_ the concept of hygiene _or_ personal space), who pressed up against him in the subway, to the gremlins that littered his high school with their loud vulgar mouths and vapes hanging from their ulcer littered lips. There was even that girl in his church who always tried to talk to him after service; no matter how much he glowered at her and grunted responses to her bubbly little questions. He was going to be fifteen soon for God's sake- he was too _mature_ to be running after girls like the rest of his classmates.

Now, as he scuffed his vans along the dented and cracked sidewalks of Manhattan, the pink and blue sky of the city yawning to life and stretching its array of clouds across the heavens. He felt his backpack bounce against the small of his back, key chains tinkling quietly against one another. His little golden coin flicked into the air and slammed into his palm. He focused on how the chipping yellow paint reflected the golden arrays of sunlight that creeped over the hundreds of buildings. He avoided the gaze of the few stragglers shuffling by on their way to work, or to the various little coffee shops and cafe's opening up to feed the insomniacs of New York.

A woman in a pantsuit and a tight brown updo smiled at Isidore as they passed by each other. Isidore glared and scrunched up his face in annoyance, until the woman frowned and looked away. _Good_. It was better that way. Besides, who _smiled_ at six fifty five in the morning? Horrible. Those sort of people needed to be stopped; immediately, if possible.

Isidore watched as fellow store owner neighbors opened up their business, unlocking the steel shutters and pushing them from over the front of the storefronts. Many had graffiti and bullet hole dents littering across the metal, but many stayed intact and gave those business owners a sense of security and peace. Especially with those purple dragons running around, extorting money from local owners and shaking them down for personal goods.

The daughter of the local grocery store a block down from Murakami's restaurant smiled and waved at him, her father wrestling with the padlock of his roller shutter. Parvati was her name, and sometimes she brought over her homemade candles that Murakami loved to litter his apartment and the restaurant with, in return for giant hearty bowls of Japanese soup that she brought to her family. She was nice- he couldn't just glare at her.

Isidore groaned loudly, glad that he was on the opposite side of the road. It pained him to raise his hand and wave, even more so to force a tight lipped smile in her direction. She grinned back, her long black hair pulled into a tight braid. She was about his age, and they both went to the same school- even if they didn't talk much. Yaki was always on his case to make new friends, but giving Parv a smile drained him of his social battery.

Isidore quickened his pace, hoping that there would be no other business neighbors for him to force a good morning; or else Yaki would smack the back of his head as a punishment. Strands of platinum blond hair kept sticking to his lips and attempting to wiggle inside of his mouth, as he yanked them away in annoyance. He stuffed his fake golden coin deep into his jeans pocket, making sure it was firmly inside.

He stopped.

There was a crowd around the storefront of Murakami's restaurant- and the steel shutter was gone. Oh _great_. More people!

He let out a long sigh and quickened his pace. Yaki and Y/n would be here in half an hour, as he always woke up early to start with the preparations before rushing off to school. First period would start at seven forty, so maybe he could figure out what was going on and alert Sukiyaki of it. It would be _so_ much of a hassle, but at least he wouldn't get in trouble for not... saying anything. Then, he could shuffle off to his leaking mold riddled public high school and camp out in the library with a few good comic book and manga's, avoiding the poor librarian who always tried to make small talk.

Isidore started to shove through his fellow store owners, grumbling loudly as he tried to see what the whole commotion was about. Had some kid graffitied a giant middle finger on the door, _again_? He really couldn't think up any other explanation, and started thinking up of various ways to find that rotten middle schooler and shove him in a locker full of three day old egg salad.

"Isi!" Cried out a voice twinged with an accent, as he paused in his shoving and pushing- why were there so many people? Whatever it was it, couldn't be _that_ bad?.. Hopefully.

Isidore turned to see Parvati racing down the sidewalk, her exhausted father drinking straight from a steaming coffee pot as he trailed after his daughter. She huffed and puffed as she bent over, hands on her denim covered knees as she peered up at him through her cheaply mascara riddled eyelashes, twinged with bits of dollar store blue eye shadow.

"Is everything okay?" She began, adjusting her golden rimmed glasses as she straightened, a bit embarrassed that that brisk jog took so much out of her. She attempted to stand on her toes to peer over the mumbling indignant crowd of local business owners and other nosy passing New Yorkers, who could spare a few minutes of neighborly gossip.

"mm." Isidore mumbled with a one armed shrug, averting his eyes as he returned to making a path. He ducked under arms clutching coffee mugs, phones and bags, and shoving away at shoulders, sides and elbows that poked him. Parvati stayed close behind, her long fingers curling into the edge of his sea green jacket as her sandal ladened feet scurried after the boy. She yelped out a chorus of, "I'm so sorry!" and "He doesn't mean it!" To the many innocent bystanders who stood in the way of Isidore's path.

He slowed down as he eventually came to the front of the crowd, and stared at the restaurant. Or, what was left of it.

"Oh..." Parvati breathed, eyes as large as the glasses that were perched in front of them. She covered her mouth as she eyed the bullet holes that littered the giant red wooden sign that read 'Murakami's'. But, the 'r' and the two 'a's had been ripped off, leaving it to be read as 'Mu—k-mi's.' Charming. A part of him found it a lot more endearing than the old 'Murakami' sign that had been both rusting _and_ rotting. Really, those dumb gangster oafs had done them a favor. But, alas, it was the inside of the restaurant that infuriated the young man more.

The large glass windows had been smashed and battered, the bamboo shutters that usually neatly covered the panes of glass had been burned til only a few were left intact. The metal shutter that usually covered the restaurant front at night had been cut away with some machine, the scraps scattered along the sidewalk. Inside, the eatery did not fare any better. From chairs smashed into wooden piles, cracks and dents along the linoleum floors, and tables ripped apart limb by limb. The vending machine had been cracked open, and hundreds of those golden coins marked with various Japanese Braille letters were scattered along the floor- and Isidore was sure they would find many had been stolen. Picture frames had been ripped off the walls and smashed against the ground; pictures that spanned from when Isidore's father worked as a busboy, to black and white photographs of Murakami back in Japan, finishing up with a picture of Yaki having one of the panicking delivery boys in a headlock- he had been the first one to start it, _apparently._

Isidore couldn't hear the people around him apologizing as the blaring sound of rage rang loudly in his head. Not until the woman who owned the nearby nail salon touched his shoulder and he slapped her away in his fury. He didn't want _anyone's_ pity; this wasn't even his _restaurant_ for God's sake's. It belonged to Murakami... _Murakami!_

He spun around on the heels of his sneakers, his arms spinning about like a windmill as he tried to knock a five foot wide circle around him; away from any human contact. "Has anyone seen Mr. Ittoku Murakami?!" He called out in a loud voice, silencing the town that had all assumed that 'Murakami' was the older man's first name- not... _Ittoku_. A few bewildered bystanders furrowed their brows and mouthed the name, feeling it just roll off their tongues.

"He must still be in his apartment!" Began the young woman in charge of the coffee shop across the street, pointing up at the small flat above the restaurant.

Isidore had already taken off running, a bit annoyed when he felt Parvati behind him; but, _relieved_ that he wouldn't be running into danger alone. He would have felt a lot better if a certain six foot tall dark skinned woman with a knife always in her shoe was with him as well, but he knew not to push his luck.

There was a small door pressed up against the left side of the restaurant, which was easily yanked open even for Isidore's lanky strength, as he stormed up the staircase along with Parv. Their shoes smacked loudly against the sticky sleek floor, as Isi kept an eye out for any signs of a struggle- or blood.

Isidore may have hated people, but not Murakami.

There was only one door at the top of the staircase, as the building was old, and quite small compared to the newer models. He stopped at the entrance of the apartment, breathing heavily as he yanked the black velvet scrunchie that Y/n had gifted him from his wrist, pulling his long blond hair back into a low ponytail, making him look quite like the strapping 1770's young apprentice. If he had to fight, he would rather not be blinded by his long sentient locks.

Parv stood closely behind him at his shoulder, the fingers of her left hand curled around a pepper spray bottle. Isidore wanted to scoff and go on a rant on how she was about two feet shorter, at _best_ , than those bulking greasy men, and it would take a miracle from Jesus Christ himself, (even though Parv was Hindu), to be able to aim that spray directly into their eyes- but kept quiet. Y/n had been teaching him correct etiquette on how to deal with girls his age- smiling being one of the topics that he had to be taught. He used to give emotionless looks coupled with a dead gaze that would terrify anyone who had the misfortune of smiling at him, but now he could give a tight lipped quirk of his lips and that was progress enough.

Isidore wrapped his hand around the doorknob before pausing once more. The door was already open and the lock had been smashed.

Well _that_ wasn't comforting at _all_.

"Isidore..." Parv quietly whined, shaking her head in slight panic. "Let's just call the poli-"

"No." Isidore whispered back, and the girl fell silent, though he could hear her swallowing loudly and that was annoying.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Gulping."

Parv inhaled loudly and held her breath. Isi grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut for a fleeting moment. Were girls _all_ this loud? He wouldn't have the strength needed to marry one if they were all like her.

Isidore pressed his hand against the door and slowly pushed it open, the frame groaning as it bent with the bullet that had been shot into it. He stepped in slowly, his sneakers sinking into a rug as his gaze went around the darkened apartment. Everything seemed to be intact, from the ugly green couch wrapped in a two inch thick layer of plastic that Murakami refused to give up, since it was one of the first pieces of furniture he had bought when he moved into his apartment in the early nineties. A radio where a tv would have been located in the living room, as Murakami had declared that he hadn't much need for Cable, which was a waste of money. Instead, he enjoyed listening to Podcasts, especially The Office Ladies, as Yaki constantly played the episodes of the show as background noise while she cleaned dishes. Then there was the a giant wardrobe with glass doors that showed off the many trophies, awards, and plaques he had attained over the years through his magnificent food and how his restaurant had become part of Manhattans history. There were pictures on the peeling wallpaper of the apartment of Murakami's two little sisters back in Japan, and his many nieces and nephews. Lastly, the most magnificent item in the apartment- the Butsudan or, Buddhist family altar. It was lined with gold and held memorial tablets for his grandparents, parents, and various ancestors that had passed away long ago.

One of the doors had been ripped off and stolen.

Isidore took off into a sprint towards the only bedroom in the small apartment, one that he knew well since Murakami used to invite his family over for dinner many times- before his father had up and left. He knocked it open the dented door with his bony shoulder, his mind incessantly screaming in panic. Parv stood stiff in the middle of the home, frozen in fear, refusing to move less there be Purple Dragons all crammed into the bedroom waiting to attack.

" _MURA_!" Isi practically shrieked, though his voice cracked with the fury of puberty, eyes wide as his hair seemed to become a halo around his head. He stood in the entrance of the bedroom doorway, fingers curling into his scalp. _This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening_ \- Yaki was going to _strangle_ him.

Murakami laid in bed, blood staining a small river along the pillow beneath his head, stiff as ever across his mattress.

Isidore choked out a sob as he practically flew forward to the man's bedside, his hands twitching as he pondered whether to touch the body. "Mura!" He cried out once more in strangled desperation.

The annoyed Japanese man sat up, slipping a bloodied katana from under the sheets and holding it upright into the air. "Are you _always_ this loud, Isidore?" Grumbled the older man with a hoarse, scratchy voice, his scarred eyes squinting and becoming thin angry slits. His free hand patted the head of the distraught Isi; who began giggling, dragging his own hands down the black bags under his red tinged eyes and pale sickly face.

"I _thought_ you were _dead_!" Isidore laughed loudly, as if the idea was as ludicrous as was the fact that there was a grumbling old man who sat in his bed with a weighted black blanket and a blood stained katana in his left hand. Isi ignored his frantic, jumbled, hysterical thoughts to wrap his hands around the calloused wrist of Murakami, being soothed by the petting he was receiving. It called him down, especially since the scuffed wooden floorboards were digging into his bony knees.

"Well, I am most certainly _not_ dead. How do you think I have survived those dragons for those long?" His heavily accented english murmured out, gently scolding the little white boy practically praying at his bedside, as he carefully laid the katana down. He let out a small groan of pain that made a surprisingly agile Isidore immediately jump to his feet.

"You're hurt!"

"No, I am not." Retorted back the annoyed restaurant owner, as the fingers of his right hand wrapped around his left forearm that had been hastily wrapped up with bandages drenched in blood. There were bruises along his neck and arms, that he hastily attempted to cover with his blanket before the teenager lose his mind.

"You _ARE_!" Gasped Isidore with the tone of a flustered victorian lady as he took a step backwards, and ended up stepping on something... squishy.

"Careful with that body, Isidore." Murakami scolded as he reached out for the large circular tinted glasses that was neatly laid on top of the nearby nightstand.

Isidore turned and stared at the body of the purple dragon with bulging eyes and twisted stiff limbs, who's throat was sliced open as blood pooled underneath the man's neck. "Oh!" He giggled, balling up his hands and pressing his knuckles against his peeling chapped lips, tears burning his eyes both in laughter and shock. " _That_ body, huh?"

Parv tumbled into the room, one hand slapped firmly over her eyes, the other slapping against the door frame as she shuffled into the room of a man that had watched her grow up. "Isidoreee!" She whined loudly. "If Mura is dead, I'm going to ki-" her hand slipped away from her eyes as she stared at the body. "Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_."

Murakami listened to the two teenagers go limp as they collapsed onto the floor, Parv landing safely against the clean, fluffy, pleasant smelling pink rug, but poor Isidore collapsing horizontally across the rigid corpse that reeked of decomposition, bodily fluids, and a combination of booze and cigarette smoke.

* * *

"Okay- so what you're saying is that we now have a _pretty_ good reason to murder Purple Dragons in cold blood," Michelangelo began, casting a gaze around the small group of irritated teenagers, with many of them being short as Mikey seemed to have grown five inches more since the last time Yaki had seen him. "Hmm?" The remark was surprising to Sukiyaki, who remembered the orange clad mutant as someone who sang 80's karaoke and sobbed over those depressing abused dog commercials.

"No." Leonardo grunted, quite ungentlemanly if you had any say in it, as he hovered over Donnie, who was busy treating the various bruises against Murakami's neck, which was already beginning to annoy the mutant self proclaimed doctor. The restaurant owner lounged in a bean bag chair that Mikey had dragged from the lair, as he was bombarded by pillows and blankets, even his shaggy black hair had been neatly braided back, courtesy of your skills. He looked quite content sipping a honey lemonade that you had brewed, with lots of ointments and bandages littering his body. He was not the least rattled by the events he had experienced, nor was he at all disturbed by the descriptions of how far those Purple Dragons had gone in trashing his restaurant. His employees and 'adopted' children on the other hand... Well, not so much.

Someone had finally called Yaki, who had already been heading towards the restaurant via subway. She, of course, had promptly begun freaking out on the public transport, much to your embarrassment, and had forced you to abandon the subway cart, run down the tracks of the tunnels which was downright _dangerous_ , and then run the rest of the way until you both had made it to the battered restaurant. Yaki, toned and beautiful as ever, barely allowed a drop of sweat, while you had promptly collapsed on the sidewalk, wheezing and dry heaving as if you had just ran that torturous Pacer Test all over again.

The police then showed up to drag off that corpse in Murakami's apartment, (they had tried to drag the older man off to the hospital, who had refused and sat at the entrance of his restaurant, grumbling about the american health care system and deciding to wait for Donatello), and had fended off the many bystanders that had accumulated around the storefront. Many had been regular customers, eager that Tuesday morning as that popular trio would resume work that very day. Of course, they had been disappointed at being turned away for... obvious reasons; but many returned that very morning, loaded down with overpriced flowers, soups bought from other restaurants but with the labels peeled off the containers, some even offering up their services to help rebuild the restaurant which was an icon in the community.

A few hours later, the four bumbling dummies that you were becoming increasingly attached to, appeared in the back of the restaurant. Donatello had been loaded down with every conceivable medicinal item he had, even the ones that were meant for emergencies caused by Raph's rage, Leonardo's depression, and Michelangelo's curiosities. When Donnie had begun with the idea, over the phone with Yaki, of bringing an _entire_ heart monitor machine from his lab, she had put her foot down.

The brothers had taken one look at the injured japanese man and had thrown themselves all over him, all sobbing and blubbering about how much they loved Murakami, and Mikey even confessing that at sixteen he had stolen two whole racks of pizza dumplings. When you had glanced over at Yaki for an explanation over this sudden emotional breakdown, she had shrugged and mentioned something about 'daddy issues', which, with the little you had learned about the late Splinter from Leo, was enough to clam you up.

Murakami, on the other hand, was _loving_ the attention. He didn't say it out loud, preferring to keep that humble loveable personality of his at all time; but _you_ saw the way he tried to bite back a smile as the four boys crushed him a hug, and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled behind his large black glasses. With Raph swearing loudly, and Leonardo practically chanting in mumbled, panicked Japanese, while Donatello laughed in his hysteria. It was a nice little family reunion, with you yourself being on the brink of tears, Yaki rubbing frantically at her eyes with a dirty rag, _refusing_ to cry.

Now, they all surrounded Murakami as if in a protective ring to fend off any aggressive purple dragons that would attemp to jump through the shattered windows. Sure, Yaki had found dark brown bamboo shutters that seemed to have been stuck in that damp broom closet since the opening of the restaurant, and covered up the windows as best as she could with Raph's help. Sure, she was tall enough _and_ physically able to put up the blinds himself, but Raphael had been too excited to scurry over and hold the bamboo shutters, that she couldn't say no to him.

"Stop hovering or I'll snap." Donnie hissed, turning his head to clutch his scalpel menacingly, glaring over his shoulder at the fretting leader.

Leonardo immediately backed down, remembering the events of Sunday night, when he had returned to your apartment, and Donnie had chased him around with a broom that he had found in your crammed messy closet. It brought back some sort of nostalgic happiness, and you also wanted the chance to swat Leo on the head with your broom. After giving you all a heart attack and how you had found out about his self harming issues- you were sure that a good friendly beating with a plastic broom would be enough to knock some sense into him.

Leo shuffled away from his brother, grumbling slightly before he plopped himself next to you at the little booth. Or, what was left of it. The bolted down table had been ripped off his hinges and tossed across the restaurant; the booth benches had been left intact, thankfully. He wrapped his arms over his chest and pouted. He felt a bit useless at the moment as the only purple dragon even connected to this fiasco was currently laying cold in a morgue; and hovering about as if he was a worried mother hen was the best he could do; but, of course, Donnie had ruined his immersion.

Isidore and Parv had both woken up sprawled against the sidewalk with his backpack firmly underneath their heads. Isi had swiftly panicked at being so close to a girl his age, and had rolled away right up to the black body bag that held the gangsters corpse. He had shrieked and had been close to passing out _once_ _again_ , but Yaki had grabbed him by his ponytail and yanked him to his feet. Then, with a honey lemonade in their hands, you had patted their heads and shoved the shaken teenagers off to school, (under the supervision of Parvati's older sister, of course. There _was_ the chance that the two teenagers were... _concussed;_ but you had promised they could leave school early to take care of Murakami.)

You rested your head against Leonardo's broad shoulder, rubbing your knuckles into your puffy eyes. You had had fallen asleep every single time Yaki had yelled at you to wake up from the kitchen of your apartment, and so she had been forced to shove an ice cube down your shirt which made you swiftly get out of bed. Such a late start had forced you to show up to work, makeup less with a mismatched outfit and hair that seemed to have been braided and unbraided multiple times while you slept. It hadn't helped that you were still a bit sticky from all the sweating you had done on Yaki's marathon to the restaurant.

And yet, you didn't feel embarrassed as you cuddled your head into his shoulder, covered by a blue jacket that Yaki had given him. Apparently, she had gone thrift store shopping and had brought multiple sweaters and jackets for her boys. She had also forced all the groceries she had done that week into Raphael's arms, refusing to take no for an answer.

"What are we going to do about those dragons?" You wondered out loud, knowing fully well that without context, you sounded quite insane and stuck in a fantasy novel.

"I mean, we _could_ -"

"No _killing,_ Mikey!" Raphael scolded, slapping the back Mikey's head who seemed quite comfortably perched atop of the pile of broken chairs. Who knew that this orange masked mutant had this side to him? If you asked Donnie, he would probably start on a rant and a 12 slide PowerPoint over how violent video games, shows, and gore filled comics had corrupted Mikey's once innocent mind. Sure, it made the kid a lot more experienced when it came to being a vigilante- but at what cost?

"Well, if we _cant_ kill them," Sighed Mikey dramatically, tossing his head back as he twisted a few bandages around his hands lazily. "What's _your_ big bright idea?" He scoffed, his head lolling over to rest on his shoulder as he squinted at his older brother.

Raphael narrowed his eyes as he crossed his arms over his puffed out chest, trying to look scary though he was the shortest brother out of the four. "... Suki." He looked up at the young woman who was attempting to balance a chop stick on the tip of her nose.

"Huh?" She blurted out, startled as she sat up and snatched the chopsticks as it slipped off her face. She looked around at the inquiring pairs of eyes, confusion seeming to only torture her features anymore.

"You should talk to those goons." Leonardo pointed out, on the same train of thought as his brother.

"Goons? What are you? An Italian mobster from the 1930's?"

Leonardo huffed as he stuck his hands into the front pocket of his sweater, as you reached over and pulled the hoodie over his head, yanking the drawstrings tight. "You _know_ what I meant." He grumbled as he slumped in his seat, acting more like a gloomy teenager than a leader.

"Maybe I do." Yaki smirked, adjusting in the chair that he sat in that had no legs, and was simply scraping against the linoleum floor. "But- I'm not going to talk to the gang. I wouldn't get through to them."

"Get through to them... huh?" Mikey hummed, tapping his fingers against his chin, the other hand slowly rising with Donnie's scalpel clutched in his free hand.

"Hey!" Donatello snapped, grabbing his scalpel and yanking it back to his chest to glare at his little brother. "That's _not_ a toy."

"Look, all you need to do is go after the purple dragons and..." Raphael frowned as he pursed his lips, placing his hands on his hips. "And make them pay."

Michelangelo shot up from his throne of demolished wood with a loud gasp and bright wondrous eyes.

 _"NO!"_ Cried out the entire group of friends, even Murakami; though he mumbled it through a mouthful of lemonade; not at all against Mikey's idea.

"Why can't you ask those gangsters to stop harassing Mura? I mean... didn't you use to be, like, their leader?" You questioned, raking your fingers through your hair to try and keep your hands busy and your attention off the ridicule you were sure to attain.

"Nope." Yaki shook her head, crossing one toned leg over the other. "Can't do that."

You blinked. It seemed fairly obvious that the only solution to this problem was to get those gangsters to back down. And, if you _really_ couldn't counteract with an attack, then wasn't speaking with them a better idea? You couldn't think of another solution. You all had to act fast because those purple dragons either came back for revenge or to finish the job. "Yaks..." You began slowly, leaning forward. "You have to do something. You're the only one who can put a stop to this. Peacefully, of course."

Yaki pushed a hand through her hair, slouching against the chair as she let her legs stretch against the ground. "Oh well." She shrugged, as she began to pick underneath her nails.

Before you could launch yourself at Yaki and strangle her for her blatant nonchalant attitude towards Murakami's and the wellbeing of the restaurant; there was a knock against the outline of the entrance door that had all its glass panes shattered.

The already tense family froze as their bumbling arguments and fights came to a halt.

Yaki's eyes widened as she shot up to her feet, waving her arms about. You stood up and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Hide!" You whispered, scurrying off towards the thin bamboo that gave them privacy from the public, pressing your hands gently against the doorframe. You kicked your leg in the air in the general direction of the four idiots, trying to signify that it was time for them to hide in the back hallway that was the only part of the restaurant still intact.

Murakami slurped his straw loudly as he pulled the blankets around his upper body even tighter. "Iku." The sharp word that meant ' _go'_ in his native language was enough to have the brothers run off, shoving one another and tripping about until the pantry door was swinging back and forth in its doorframe.

"Um... Who is it?" You sang with a high pitched voice that was filled with a nervous energy, your eyes glancing over your shoulder to make sure that there were no peeping green heads in the circular window of the pantry door.

A deep voice cleared its throat. "Police."

You squeaked and fought back the sudden to have your eyes roll into the back of your head and promptly pass out. You pushed your hand through your hair to try and fix that rats nest, inhaling deeply. You shot a glare at Yaki, who's face was a bit confusing to decipher, and that wasn't your priority at the moment.

"Hi..." You paused, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment at what you were about to say. "Police. I'm Y/n." You could practically _hear_ Raph rolling his eyes.

"Yeah," sighed the voice. "I know." The voice paused. "Can you let me in already? Yaki's _stupid_ cat is digging his claws into my _shirt_!" The whiny voice lost its steel edge as it grumbled loudly, and a familiar yowl erupted from the other side of the bamboo blinds.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, to deny this... officer from entering the restaurant. But who was he? And why did he know your name? And what was he doing with Lady Garbage anyway?!

Murakami perked up from his two minute nap, a slow lazy smile growing on his lips as he slightly shuffled in his pampered seat. "Is that detective Mayfield? Let him come inside. He is very kind. He knows the Hamato boys." And with that shocking revelation, he shuffled back comfortably into his seat, and began to quietly snore.

Your eyes slowly turned to glare at Yaki, a low grumble sounding in your throat. "You know him... Don't you?"

She held a guilty look on her face as she averted her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, even if you were shorter than her. "Uh... Maybe."

You threw your head back and let out a groan, your hands wrapping around the dented metal bar attached to the door that was only hanging on through tears and prayer. You yanked it open across the linoleum floors covered with glass and splinters, the metal frame making a horrible screeching sound.

The man walked inside quickly, pressing his acorn brown colored hand against the door and shoving it into its frame. His other arm cradled a very grumpy screaming cat that was offended by the full on restraint held onto his long fat body, attacking the muscled arm of the detective with his canines, and digging his claws into the man's sherpa jacket. At seeing his mom, he flailed and wiggled until he was able to escape and scamper across the ground, hiding under a fallen table, mewing to himself.

Yaki grinned and approached the detective, wrapping him up in a hug. "Hiiii Jared."

"Hiiii former purple dragon." He snickered, hugging back the young woman, before leaning back, hands still gripping the shoulders of Yaki. "So." His Light hazel eyes twinkled in the little tight that was allowed by the few lightbulbs that hadn't been broken. "About those purple dragons..." He slowly grinned, playing with the badge that hung around his neck with a chain.

Yaki let out a loud sigh as she wiggled herself free from his grip, walking off to try and entrap Lady Garbage in her loving arms. The cat hissed loudly and took off running, his little four paws scratching and sliding against the linoleum as he shot through the pantry door. A loud high pitched squeal was heard as Raphael yelled at Mikey to release his son.

"Oh, come on. I know that Haruto Enomoto was under your jurisdiction- oh _hi_!" Jared whirled around, a late grin on his panicked face as he realized that there was a teenager in the room as well. How could he have had forgotten? "You must be Y/n L/n, right? Yaki has told me all about you." He approached the teenager with a kind smile, holding out his warm calloused hand.

"Yeah." You sighed loudly, holding out your hand to shake his firmly. "Shes told everyone else too, _apparently_." You mumbled under your breath, before forcing a smile. Before you could inquire under what Jared meant by the gangster being under 'Yaki's jurisdiction', (had she really been the leader of the purple dragons? She couldn't quite see her friend as being in charge of a gang.) Mikey erupted from the pantry and tackled Jared, wrapping his limbs around the detective with a delighted cry.

"JARED!" He shrieked, as if his voice wasn't dangerously near the man's ear, but the detective didn't mind. He simply grinned and squeezed the mutant back, shaking him back and forth.

" _Mikester_! How you've been?!" He laughed, not at all worried of how his arms could sustain the weight of an nineteen year old mutant turtle.

Michelangelo then went on a tirade of how he had learned that provoking pigeons was _not_ a good idea, and how he had discovered the wonders of using a giant shower brush to finally reach those pesky hard to reach spots on his shell. Donatello and then Leonardo found it safe enough to cautiously shuffle into the kitchen, before breaking out into shouts of joy and recognition as they raced to greet their favorite detective. Raphael was the last one to leave the pantry, much too absorbed in peppering the purring cat in his arms with many kisses and baby talk- something that abruptly stopped when he realized that you and Yaki were staring. He cleared his throat and decided to punch Jared in the shoulder, who only whined and asked, _why?_

Murakami even snorted awake and joyfully exclaimed a greeting which made Jared excitedly race over for a warm hug. Finally, the detective brushed the floor beneath him free of glass, and sat himself on the ground, smiling up at his friends.

You leaned over to whisper at Yaki, as you seemed to be a bit offended that there was yet _another_ person who knew about the turtles. You assumed that it was a secret, seeing how they had moaned and groaned about how the entirety of the human race _hated_ them when you had all first met. Now, you were staring down an optimistic detective and feeling betrayed. You were supposed to be the fashionable optimistic friend! What else did this ' _detective_ ' do? Cook? Was he an artist as well!?

"How do they know... Jared?"

Yaki sighed loudly, as if you had forgotten her pledge to not give any more boring long information filler backstories anymore. A cheap tactic used by a lazy author too tired of giving her characters complicated backgrounds. Yet, it had come to this. "During the invasion, he was one of the few people on the force to help the guys in their fight against The Shredder." She paused as she straightened, as if she had finished in her short explanation. "Oh," she began, leaning back to whisper at you. "He also accidentally shot Leo in the calf once, but that was mostly a panic move."

"He did _what_?!"

"Jared!" Yaki yelled, quite happy to move on from that tidbit of startling information, as she crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. Interestingly enough, Raphael stood in the same stance beside her, though Lady Garbage seemed to be gnawing on his tattered mask tails, his little paws planted firmly onto his plastron. "Did you just come to interrogate my past and I- or," she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Is there _another_ reason?"

Jared frowned, sighing loudly as he stood slowly as his knees seemed to pop. "I'm getting old." He grumbled to himself, though he was barely in his early thirties.

 _"That's_ why you came, old man?" Michelangelo gaped, attempting to creep up on Raphael to gentle rub the little head of his nephew, Lady G.

Jared huffed loudly, opening up his jacket to take out a file. "No. I came for serious business, involving you..." he paused, counting on his fingers. "Eight, including the cat and napping Mura."

" _Do_ tell." Yaki hummed, as she side stepped to stand behind you, and began to lazily braid a piece of your hair in between her long fingers.

"Ittoku, here-" He jabbed over at the sleeping bundled up older man, tucking the beige file under his right arm. "Didn't kill Haruto Enomoto."

"He _murdered_ him?" Donatello gasped, placing a hand on his chest as he stared at the scalpel that he still gripped in his hand, as if it were a safety blanket.

" _No_. Whatever weapon that was used to slice Haruto's throat was too thin to come from a katana blade. And the blood on katana we took did _not_ match up with Mr. Enomoto's." Jared pointed out, his brow furrowed in concentration. He licked his thumb as he carefully flipped through various pages, notes, and pictures.

"At least Murakami got _someone_." Muttered Raphael, as Lady Garbage's long fluffy grey tail wrapped around his wrist as he began to massage his baby's fur.

Sukiyaki gripped Raphael's neck with a firm hand, the poor mutant grumbling and scrunching up his shoulders in pure annoyance. "What killed my _dear_ degenerate Haru, then?" She spoke dryly, showing no signs of pity or remorse for a man that had she grown up with; her hair didn't even quiver with emotion.

Jared stared at his notes in his file, chewing on chapped scarred lips, bits of brown hair escaping their carefully sculpted hairdo to press against his increasingly perspiring forehead. He inhaled deeply and looked up, meeting the eye of every mutant, woman, and cat in the room. "You guys have to promise to not make fun of me."

Michelangelo sighed loudly and stood up from his pile of wooden trash, raising his hands into the air. "I'm out, then."

 _"Mikey_."

 _"Fineee_ -" Huffed the annoyed teenager, sprawling himself against the pile, feeling various splinters and chunks of wood stab into the stomach of his plastron. "Can I snicker, at least?" He questioned, with a look that only read as, 'pleading puppy eyes.'

Jared gripped his chin in deep thought. "I'll allow it."

"Can you get _on_ with it?" Grumbled Donatello, who has begun dissection on a chunk of a broken table that was absolutely infected with dirty pieces of years old gum.

" _Fine_. Um." Jared glanced back down at his notes, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down along his throat; it was almost mesmerizing. "Okay." He inhaled deeply as he approached one of the few intact booth tables that Leonardo, (who had zoned out for the past few moments, a bit too into the idea of how it would feel for him to braid your hair), sat at.

Jared waved a hand as the rest of the group shuffled around the detective, Mikey wrapping his arms around the man's forearm to peek over his shoulder. Donatello and Yaki were quite proud of their height at the moment, as you wiggled into the booth bench next to Leo.

"There have been... strange occurrences around New York, lately." Began the plainclothes detective, who tugged at the collar of his buttoned up shirt that strangled him.

"Mutants!" Mikey chirped, before his face fell and his brow furrowed. "Wait..."

"Sorry Mike- But mutants are _old_ news. Sure, people still _hate_ you guys-" Jared began, waving his hand about and almost smacking Raphael in the face, who looked quite offended at such a mishap.

"Charming." Sighed Donnie, who propped his elbow onto Yaki's shoulder to lean against her.

Raphael glared at his brother from afar, burying his face into the mane of his cat to hold himself back before he lunged forward and shoved Donnie off of Yaki.

"But- they're not... _surprised_ anymore. You guys are as normal as two mice going at it in a subway station." Shrugged Detective Mayfield, wiping his hand along the back of his throat. Being surrounded by multiple people really made him sweat more. "Now, I've been investigating these occurrences for the past six months. I've staked out the hot spots, I've interviewed victims, I've even joined online _reddit_ forums _discussing_ these bastards!" His voice rose in annoyance, as his cheeks reddened against his nut brown skin- either from how nervous he was, or purely annoyance.

For some odd reason, a sense of fear fell over your body. You seemed to... know what he was speaking about, even if your brain was too much in la-la land to make the connection.

"What..." Your voice was strained as you dug your chewed up nails into your thighs, your back straight and stiff as the tendons in your neck tightened. You felt everyone's eyes on you. "What are they?"

Jared sighed, his once stiff shoulders suddenly dropping out of either exhaustion or relief. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, frowning deeply. His eyes were red from weeks of insomnia, his under eyes dark and puffy, the lines along his face deep and making him look much older than what he was. "Well... it's stupid." He mumbled, beginning to close up the file and forget this whole mess.

Before you could stop yourself, you had jumped to your feet and slammed your hand against the file, keeping it open. "What have you _seen_ , detective?" You ignored the confused inquiring glances of your friends, your _family_. Right now, you needed _answers_.

Jared licked his lips before looking up into your eyes. There was a knowing look in his gaze. He wiggled a blurry picture from underneath your hand and slid it into the middle of the scuffed up table.

A photograph of two white blurs, approaching the fallen camera as if it was a worthy adversary, red staining their smiling pencil made mouths.

Jared held your gaze. "Stick figures."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for your amazing comments! You are all too kind, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	10. what will kill me first- anxiety or stick figures?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah- just for a few minutes." He paused. "Nothing bad, I swear." Once again, he paused. "I'm not going to murder you, I swear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for the first few paragraphs.

You felt sick. A burning bile welled up in your throat as you swallowed as harshly as you could, your entire _body_ shaking like a nervous chihuahua. Your lungs had constricted, refusing to let even a wisp of air in and you were _drowning._ Your torn up nails curled into your denim covered thighs as you sat down abruptly on the bench, the rush of blood in your ears as you stared at the swaying linoleum floors below you. Everything about you was perspiring, your sneakers becoming mini saunas that drenched your socks. There was a voice calling out to you, though you couldn't tell who it was— it was dull and monotonous and a ringing in your ears, maybe it was Jared? Leo? Even Yaki? There were too many possibilities and it just seemed to blend and blend until it was an incessant, confusing ringing that made you want to claw your ears. There was a heavy weight on your arm- and it seared your clothes, burned your flesh and sent waves of disgust throughout your blood as you recoiled, beating your hands against the source of your pain; You needed to get out, _get out,_ **_get out-_**

You were up and gone, the ground below you swaying and shaking as if you were drunk and on a boat in the raging sea. Your hands clamped over your ears as if that could stop the multiple voices that spoke to you, various tones that was soon overtaken by the high pitched laughter of those _stick figures._ Every movement or blur out of the corners of your eyes was a grinning pencil drawn face, every bit of scattered glass across the ground reflected their bloodied paper faces. _Paint, paint, paint,_ ** _pain, pain, pain._**

You were sitting in the frame of the entrance that led to the side alleyway, feeling the cool spring breeze sooth your anxieties and the sweat that made your baggy shirt cling to your skin. You weren't sure how you had gotten there, all you knew was how the ground dug into your behind and how cold the linoleum and concrete of the alley was biting into your skin. You inhaled deeply, your fingers twisting and pulling one another as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, in the moment. Your under eyes were sticky with dried up tears, as you hadn't even realized that you had actually been crying moments before. You looked down at the palms of your hands, seeing the pieces of green skin and ichor underneath your nails. You swallowed harshly, the memory of what you had done moments before still a blur.

"Hey." His soft voice petered out, gentle as ever.

You refused to look up at him, simply digging out the epidermis and drying up blood from your nails, your lips pursed tightly, your teeth digging into the flesh. How could you answer him? You _freaked_ out back there, seemingly without reason in the eyes of the others. That detective though, he had known; you both shared the same glimmer of trauma and recognition when you looked upon that damned blurry picture that has completely broken you. _'Should've stayed to see what Jared had to say,'_ your mind chastised gently, as you knew very well that it was right. Maybe he had some sort of information that would've come in handy- he was a _detective_ after all, and had spent months investigating these creatures. You were just an anxious teenager who had merely come in contact with those bastards.

You paid him no mind as Leonardo sat in front of you, his shell pressing up against the metal door frame as he hugged his knees as best as he could against his plastron. You adjusted yourself as well, and soon your legs were pressed up against his. It was a tight squeeze. You propped your elbows against your knees, cradling your face in between your hands as you rocked side to side. Your heart still pounded wildly, and it only seemed to increase in its furor, causing your rib cage to ache. Finally, after a few dragged out moments, you managed to peek through your grime ladened hands.

He was smiling at you, long angry scratch marks etched across his left cheekbone.

"Did... Did I do that?" Your hoarse voice questioned, your fingers massaging your tense temples. Your lips were tightly pursed at this point, your eyes puffy and red from tears spilled that you didn't seem to recall. It was a stupid question, and you both knew it, though he would never admit such a ungentlemanly statement.

"Well..." He sighed, tilting his head to the side as he dragged his hands across his bent padded knees, glancing at the scuffed metal door frame towering above him. "Let's just say it was the anxiety, that-" He motioned to the four irritated reddish lines on his face with his hand, as if it were a common occurrence and the _least_ of his wounds. It paired well with the long scars littering the insides of his wrists and elbows. "You know."

A loud dragged out groan escaped your lips as you kneaded your fists into your forehead, shaking your head slowly. You couldn't _believe_ why you had attacked him- he was the last person that would expect to ever lay a finger on you. And yet, you had lashed out, _marking_ him in a way that could leave yet another scar on his skin! "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." She muttered, smacking your palm firmly against your head as you glares shamefully at the linoleum of the hallway.

"No, you're not stupid." He scolded you, as soft as ever, leaning forward as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling it away from your constant abuse. "And stop hurting yourself. Smacking your head won't fix your anxiety." He gently huffed, as he leaned back against the door frame, arm draped across his bent knee as he still gripped your wrist.

"It sure helps though..." You sighed, meeting his kind gaze shamefully as your free hand rubbed against the linoleum back and forth, building up a layer of grime that consisted of dust and dirt, creating a disgusting masterpiece against the canvas that was your skin. You crumbled up a paste between your forefinger and thumb, as the little rectangles of more tumbled back onto the floor, an incessant cycle that she did not stop. That was, until he squeezed your wrist, his fingers rubbing the back of your hand. Your cheeks burned from such a simple act of compassion, as you exhaled, and once again met those pooling gentle understanding eyes, knowing fully well that you would never be enough for such sympathy. "Did Jared tell you guys how... stick figures killed that gang member?" Those two words almost strangled you with their context, but you forced yourself to finish your statement. You had to pretend that everything was normal, as normal as you could be after your aggressive sensory overload.

Leonardo snorted, rolling his eyes as his head leaned back to rest against the jamb of the door. He stared off at the street that was only a few mere feet away, with a dumpster being the only thing blocking the view of anyone who had the misfortune of seeing a _random_ mutant turtle just casually lounging underneath a door frame. "His _reasoning_ was that the slit across the gangsters neck," he paused to exhale, a small scoff escaping his lips. "Was not put there by a katana, because the blade is too thick. Now a _paper cut_ on the other hand..." A small laugh escaped as he shook his head.

"You... Don't believe him?" You tried not to sound so hurt. Really, what did you expect from him? That he would believe something so absurd? There was a difference between living stock figures and mutants- for one thing, it was _believable_. There had been plenty of books, tv shows, and movies that dealt with animals gifted with human traits. That was one of the main reasons on why you hadn't been _too_ freaked out when he had stumbled behind you in this same alleyway that fateful night. Mutants has been shown on live tv before, pictures and videos strewn across social media platforms- though, to see one in real life was much more terrifying then watching it lash out on a glass screen. And yet... stick figures? It was stupid! Stick figures were drawn by uninspired children or _really_ bored artists; and for something as preposterous as _that_ to actually cut open the jugular of a man? Regardless, you felt something akin to anger bubbling in your blood, burning against your skin. How could he brush off such a theory like that? Were there not superheroes in New York City? Hadn't there been invasions of pink bubble gum hissing aliens nestled in emotionless terrifyingly tall androids? Could he at least _try_ to believe in stick figures?

"There are _better_ explanations, Y/n." He chuckled softly, focusing more on how soft your hand was in his, then in this conversation or how, betrayed you looked. "He could've been killed by one of his fellow gang members, I've seen it happen before." He shrugged, indifferent and without remorse, but who could blame him? The man had made his decision and was one of the perpetrators who had destroyed the restaurant and had tried to kill Murakami.

His words made sense, and that aggravated you even more. He was right, there was no actual evidence that those stick figures had actually sliced open the jugular of that purple dragon- and yet you still _wanted_ to believe that Jared's theory was true. With their unsuspecting flat blank faces, and their little stubby kegs that scampered about, leaving behind white dots of paint if they felt like it. For all you knew, they were harmless little creatures, as stupid as a rat (sorry splinter) or a pigeon. Alas, that nagging part of your anxious brain knew that Jared's theory rang true. There was just, something about how that stick figure had acted towards you that fateful night, hissing, ready to pounce, baring those sharpened pencil drawn teeth that seemed so comical, as if they had been drawn by a bored child on their desk.

You were conflicted, hating how easily Leo paid no mind to this revelation, hating how he was free of any anxiety or torment brought on by these creatures. You pulled your hand free from his, balling it up into your chest as you simply stared at your denim covered thighs, silent. Pondering.

Leonardo was silent too, his smile of casual disbelief having quickly disappeared once your hand pulled away and he realized how, how _silent_ you were. He tried to brush it off as an aftermath of your mild anxiety attack (man did those cuts _sting),_ but the look on your face of hurt and confusion was enough to make him doubt himself. Had he done something wrong? He had simply stated his opinion, after all. He let out an exasperated sigh, turning his face to stare out into the alleyway. You needed some time for yourself, that was all- it was nothing more. He had intruded, of course. He should have just listened to Yaki and left you alone; after all, she knew you _much_ better. And sure, he had gotten a bit overboard by calling you family during that emotionally distressing night in the graveyard- but he didn't regret his words. You were the first human to actually treat him like a person the moment you laid eyes upon him. He could easily recall the reactions of countless of other humans, from screaming loudly, fainting, even _attacking_ him when all he had done was help. After so many years, it had started to get to him. What was he even doing with his life? He was rarely thanked, rarely acknowledged, and now that the entire city seemed to know who they were, things had only gotten worse.

People were scared of him, but not you. _Never_ you. All you had ever done was care and treat him like any other person- and he _craved_ that normality. He wanted to feel human, and that's exactly what you did. From treating his wounds, to joking around, to him spilling his _entire_ crappy origin story as if that was the normal thing to do. Barely a week had passed and he already thought the world of you. What was _wrong_ with him?

The atmosphere around the both of you was suffocating. The tension rested against your chest like a familiar fat cat who pestered every moment of your existence, entirely out of spite. You were desperate to find a way to relieve it, but you simply didn't want to talk, or even _look_ at him at the moment. You were bewildered by all these new revelations, and the fact that you now knew that you could never real to Leonardo all the secrets you had accumulated ever since you had met him- even the ones from your past. Out of everyone you knew, you had honestly believed that he was the only one you could trust. Now though, such hopes had been battered against rocks and obliterated. From the paint that had come to life, bubbling and hissing on the linoleum floors, to the pesky paper bastards stomping their little flat feet against your fragile sanity.

"Heyyy, you two." A familiar deep voice dragged out, funky even in his own tone of voice.

You looked up at the officer, squinting at how the spring morning sunlight reflected against his aviator sunglasses, effectively blinding you for a moment. You let out a grumble as you covered your line of sight with your hand. "What do you want?" You demanded, not meaning to sound as snappish, but hey, you weren't the happiest trooper at the moment.

Jared pouted, stuffing his hands into his Jean pockets, the familiar damning file tucked underneath his arm. "Okay, you don't have to be rude. I'm just saying hi, you two." He mumbled under his breath, shuffling from foot to foot, his spiked hair almost quivering with sadness. He looked more like an edgy teenager than a detective in his thirties. Was he supposed to be undercover, or was he mimicking the Jake Peralta effect?

You exhaled loudly, pushing your fingers through your greasy dirty hair. You couldn't recall the last time it had been cleaned, seeing as you usually had it pulled back when you were cooking- though, with the way the restaurant was looking at the moment, you probably wouldn't be working for a while. "Sorry, I'm just- tired." You muttered, rubbing your hands against your thighs, feeling the dirt rub off onto your denim. That panic attack had really sapped you, and so had the awkward conversation with Leo.

Leonardo looked up at Jared, a slight hint of guilt on his face, considering how the events back in the dining room had transpired. He really should have given Jared a better chance to explain himself- he _had_ been the one to start the chain reaction of disbelief among the small group. Being the leader, he had to take responsibility. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to Y/n."

"What?" You looked up at him with surprise, rubbing your fingers against your eyes as Leo winced at how unsanitary that was; but you didn't care. That was the _least_ of your problems at the moment.

Jared's foot was tapping against the floor so rapidly that you wanted to reach out and simply, hold it down. He was a ball of energy and you simply couldn't believe that _he_ was a detective. He seemed like he would fit much better being a camp counselor then chasing criminals and investigating cases- _especially_ stick figures. "Yeah- just for a few minutes." He paused. "Nothing bad, I swear." Once again, he paused. "I'm _not_ going to murder you, I swear."

You stared up at him in disbelief, wondering how it was possible that he went through four whole _years_ of training to become an officer when here he was, making jokes. No wonder he got along so well with the others. You let out a sigh and finally managed to share a glance at Leo, who looked quite disappointed in Jared's blatant disregard for the tension that hung around the both- ( ** _not_** _the fact that he was stealing you from him but I digress-)_ He shared a look at you and simply shrugged.

You made a noise as you stood up, the muscles in your legs screaming at you as pins and needles prickled painfully at your feet. You probably would have fallen over if Leonardo hadn't reached out and steadied you, ( _a hand on my thigh? How_ _scandalous_ _Mr Hamato-)_ but you simply shook him off. You didn't want his help right now, still feeling quite annoyed by his nonchalant demeanor towards the whole stick figure situation. You followed Jared as he walked back through the alleyway, across the busy sidewalk of the endless sea of New Yorkers, and towards the drivers side of his black vehicle, parked on the side of the road.

Your sneakered feet that, only moments before, had been scraping against the cracked hole riddled sidewalk, came to a sudden halt. You watched as he opened the door to his car, and neatly slipped inside, the echo of the door slamming resonating in your mind. ' _Um, okay.'_ Your mind scoffed. Who did he think he was? Yes, he was a _detective_ or whatever, but he was a random thirty something year old man that you had only just met. You glanced over your shoulder, back into the alleyway, but you couldn't see Leo over the large dumpsters. You chewed nervously on your bottom lip, turning your attention back to the car to see the passenger window rolled down, and an expectant Jared leaning in his seat, staring at you.

"Look..." He sighed, seeing the anxiety and caution written across your face, his elbow resting against the headrest of his seat. "I just want to talk to you about..." He paused, glancing out through the windshield towards the bustling crowds and multiple cars that passed by.

"Paint." Your voice was so quiet, that you were surprised that the detective was able to hear you. Maybe it was the tone of your voice, how it was so mournful that it could easily be carried away by the light morning breeze. 

Jared drummed his dark fingers against the steering wheel, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he stared straight ahead. "Yeah. _Paint."_ He leaned across the passengers seat, opening the door and shoving it open.

You walked forward, easily slipping into the leather seat as you shut the black passenger door. The scent of pine tree aggressively attacked your nose as you rubbed at it in annoyance, taking in the coffee cups piled along the cup holders in between the two seats. The red rosary and little trinkets that varied from a Puerto Rican flag to a silver necklace, all tangled up and hanging from the rear view mirror, decorated with Barbie stickers. Without the black mesh that hung behind the two seats, and the laptop perched above the gear lever, you would have been easily led to believe that this wasn't a police car. It was obviously made for detectives and officers in disguise.

The yellow file was tossed into your lap swiftly, as you looked down at it in surprise, hands raised as if you were about to yell at this detective to _not_ shoot you. You stared at the non threatening folder, as it seemed to cause every single hair on your body to rise and for goosebumps to appear in places that they shouldn't be. You swallowed harshly, glancing nervously at the detective who was loudly slurping a three day old McDonald's extra large soda cup. With a sigh, you slowly opened it up, hands shaking and your mind preparing you for a hissing stick figure to leap out and bite off the tip of your nose. When that absurd thought did not come true, your shoulders slumped in relief, as you picked up the file and began to go through the papers. There was the picture of the two stick figure blurs, their eerie pencil line smiles burning into your retinas. There were other photographs as well, held onto the portfolio with various paper clips and tape with dirt accumulated on their sticky undersides. Various snapshots of white paint dots against alleyways, round bite marks against arms and legs, and shots of bodies with their necks slit open- and the most graphic one of them all; a prostitute's beheaded corpse.

You opened up the passenger door and leaned over, the contents of that mornings breakfast that had consisted of two graham crackers and a croissant slathered in cream cheese splattering into a oozy chunky masterpiece against the sidewalk. No one noticed.

"Ay, Jesús!" Jared swore, leaning forward to snap open the glove compartment, and grabbing a few napkins as you heaved yourself back into the car, shutting the door closed with both your hands gripping the handle tightly. The detective grimaced, handing you brown paper napkins that you gladly snatched up to wipe at your bile ladened lips. "Sorry, I thought you could handle it."

You held onto your mouth, pressing down against your lips with your fingers as you stared ahead, eyes wide. Did those damned stick figures _bite off someone's head?_ Here you had been, in peace, having your hopes tied together with a simple thread in your belief that they couldn't harm _anyone!_ That they were harmless little things that might nibble on you and demand pets and scraps- like any other cat! Your heart pounded wildly at this revelation, as you almost swore that you saw the outline of the muscular organ slamming through your shirt. You tilted your head against the black headrest, your chest heaving as you focused a bit too much on the splatters of blood on the ceiling of the car. "Did... Did those stick figures..?" You croaked, squeezing your eyes shut as the image suddenly conjured up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

"Well," Jared exhaled, trying to wrestle the gruesome picture away from the paper clip , and embarrassingly enough _struggling._ "There are different forms of these creatures, that's my theory at least." He paused, leaning back in his chair, staring at the picture with a frown on his face and furrowed brows. "She was killed by a clean fluid cut- the few beheaded corpses I've seen have had jagged marks on their neck, and the crime scene was usually messy." He sighed, shaking his head as he shoved the photograph into his pocket.

You paused, recalling something that you had seen in the photograph before your brain had shifted into panic mode and forced a reversal of your stomach contents. "Was there paint on her neck?"

Jared squirmed in his seat, his hand gripping the handbrake as his fingers tapped rhythmically against the leather. He whipped off his sunglasses and snapped them shut, sliding them onto the visor. "Yup. Just a few splatters of dried red paint- I thought it was blood at first, but, it wasn't." A silence fell between the both of you.

"Why are you telling me this?" It was a stupid question, but you needed to have it confirmed for your anxious brain that ran around in frantic circles twenty four seven. You turned your attention back to the open file on your lap, rubbing the printed pages gently against your fingers as the other hand crumbled up the spittle covered napkin. Thankfully, there were no more pictures of beheadings, but there were reddit forums of people experiences, newspaper clippings, and compiled timelines of attacks that Jared believed were caused by paint creatures. It was odd to discuss this with someone after a week of fretting anxiety as you convinced yourself that you were insane, or, even hallucinating. Especially after being hurt by Leo's words on how absurd that he had found such an idea, it was a relief to be told that you were right.

"I mean, the way you reacted back there made it pretty obvious that you were the only person who knew about these guys." He scoffed, his knee bouncing and gently smacking against the steering wheel. "Plus, you haven't made fun of me yet or asked if I was, and I quote, 'snorting cocaine,' so that already makes you a lot better then the rest of those stupid, very lovable, but still stupid kids." He snapped open the visor, a little mirror and a child's drawing tucked neatly into the plastic pocket as he began to prod and groom his dark brown hair.

"Sorry about them. Unless they've seen any of these stick figures with their own eyes, they're not going to believe us." You frowned, propping up your elbow against the passenger sides window as you leaned your cheek against your fist. You really did wish they had been more understanding. If you had panicked over the fact that your worst nightmare had been _confirmed-_ you couldn't imagine actually going up to your friends with actual evidence and being brushed off as crazy. Then again... "Maybe we could catch-"

"Nope."

"Well, why not?"

Jared pulled up the sleeve of his sherpa jacket, tilting his arm towards you. "This is what happened when I tried to grab one of those condenados." You wasn't sure what _that_ word meant, but the way he had said it made you believe that it was a word as simple as _bastard._

You looked upon his arm and saw scars, streaks of former burn marks that had never correctly healed, as if someone had slathered on acid with a paintbrush. You reached over and gingerly touched the discoloration against his dark skin, feeling the rough flesh underneath your fingertips. "It was the paint, wasn't it?" You huffed, thinking back to how the bumbling liquid had started to burn through the plastic floor of the pantry, and how it had begun _eating away at Mikey's shell-_

 _"_ Yeah, those stick figures are _covered_ in paint- that's why they leave those paint dots all over the city," He explained, pulling the sleeve back down his arm. "If they stand for too long, the paint just sort of," He waved his hand about. "Secretes off of them."

You exhaled as you slumped against your seat, staring straight ahead, your features contorted into concentration. "What do you want me to do, then? I mean, I'm just a random teenager who works for minimum wage as a line cook." You shrugged with one shoulder, tilting your head as you glanced at the storefront, the windows still draped in bamboo blinds away from prying New Yorker eyes.

"I want you to keep the file, Y/n."

Your gaze snapped back to stare at him wide eyed, the weight of _that_ request already weighing heavily on your shoulders as they slumped. "What? Why?" You were asking a _lot_ of questions today, and hated it. You hated not knowing, having to embarrass yourself like this for information you _needed._ But hey, maybe this file that was easily an inch thick could help you out after all.

"I've been investigating these creatures for almost a year, and I've been coming up dry for the last few months. It's like..." His fingers fidgeted resting against his thighs, as if they didn't know what to do with themselves as he slumped forward in his chair. He scratched at his cheek, a few patches of stubble apparent where he had apparently missed in shaving off. "They're avoiding me, if that makes sense. For months they would always pop up, jump on the hood of my car, and appear on my fire escape and then they just stopped, coming." He frowned, pushing his hands against his temples and through his hair. "And for you, I think they're just starting up."

"Awesome." You forced a tight grim smile at him, snapping the file shut in between your hands.

* * *

Isidore dragged his sharpie covered sneakers across the sidewalk, one hand wrapped tightly around his backpack straps, the other massaging the chipped fake golden coin in his left hand. He kept his head low, strands of long blond hair falling into his line of sight like a curtain. He was _trying_ not to snap at the yapping teenage girl walking next to him, too close for his comfort, but only because of how crowded the narrow sidewalks had become at this hour in the afternoon. New Yorkers rushing back to work after taking a long lunch, business women in towering heels chattering on their phones, the homeless crouching underneath sidewalk sheds with its rusting metal poles and sagging panels blocking any weather from drenching the people that rushed in and out underneath. The restaurant was only a block away, the alleyway apparent by the giant garbage truck parked in front of it, various men dressed in neon safety vests tossing garbage bags into the truck.

"- and _thats_ how I got Avaria expelled!" Parvati finished with a smirk, ducking her head to kick at a styrofoam takeout container in front of her, peeking over at the nonchalant teenager for _some_ sort of reaction- but to no avail. She had been trying to drag him into a conversation, or even yank out a smile from him over the past fifteen minutes, ever since her older sister had plucked them out of school early after the events of that morning. She exhaled, shoving her glasses up her oily nose that only made the nose pads slippery as ever. She decided to give him some space. Ever since he had been put into her third grade class all those years ago, she had _desperately_ tried to befriend him- but it was difficult. In the beginning he had been rude, ignoring her before he would snap and lash out- which usually ended up with him being berated by the teacher, causing her guilt to go through the roof. She ended up going to the library and doing as much research as she could on people on the autism spectrum- and eventually, over the years, she had finally eroded him down. After all, he had actually spoken _at_ her this very morning, though that was to tell her to stop gulping because she was too loud. It also helped that she would bake fresh home goods and would sometimes see him grab multiple cookies and stuff them into the pockets of his sea green jacket. It showed that he at least _tolerated_ her, and that meant the world to her. She winced as she looked down at her hand, multiple band aids wrapped around her forefinger, slowing her movements.

At the sudden noise of pain, Isidore paused as well, looking over his shoulder at Parv as her older sister kept on walking, talking loudly on her phone over the roar of screeching cars, and the incessant chaos of humanity. He stared at her bandaged finger as he walked towards her, silent for a moment. "What happened?"

Parvati sighed, trying to ease her beating heart at the fact that he was _talking_ to her, even if his voice was uncaring and bored. She glanced up at him as she massaged her finger with her thumb with a frown. "Something bit me back in Murakami's apartment." She muttered, tilting her head to the side. "I thought he had, like a cat or something, but it didn't have a tail and it was kind of... flat looki-" before she could finish her sentence, Isidore had grabbed her wrist and took off running, yanking her behind him as she yelped, sneakers slapping against the ground. "Isidore!" Parv yelled, her short legs desperate to catch up to the speed that his own lanky ones were going at, as he shouldered and shoved New Yorkers aside, many only giving him an annoyed side eye or trying to smack him as he ran by.

He sped right through the road, crossing with the other crowd of locals who paid no mind that the light was green, only swearing and waving their hands at the cars that honked loudly at them in retaliation. Finally, making it into the alleyway nestled between a small watch repair shop and Murakami's restaurant, he pulled her beside the empty dumpster, gripping her hand as he peeled off the band aids from her finger.

Parvati only stared, wincing every once in a while and making only noises of slight pain at how the band aids tugged at her skin, getting closer and closer to the wound. She stayed silent though, curious as to what the whole fuss was about.

Isidore peeled off the last band aid, eyes slightly wide as strands of his hair stuck to his temples and lips, as he shoved them away with the back of his wrist. The Mickey Mouse adhesive bandage was pulled away to reveal a thin paper cut that wrapped around her forefinger, cutting through the cuticle of her nail. A few speckles of paint had burned through to reveal glaringly white bone.

A small exasperated sigh escaped Parv's lips as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She slumped against the dirty wall of the alleyway, sliding to the ground, glasses crooked across the base of her nose.

"Nope! Nope! _Stop that!"_ Isidore cried out, holding her forearm as his entire arm seemed to twitch at how he was _touching a girl_ though such a thought escaped him as he slid to the ground with her, panic evident in his eyes. Of course, there was no answer from her, as he groaned loudly. It was just a bit of blood! And bone, but that was alright as well. He frowned as he adjusted his position, his bony knees digging into the concrete as he pulled his backpack into his lap. He sighed as he shrugged off his jacket, uncomfortable at how the cool air attacked his thin bare arms, as he bundled up the hoodie and tucked it beside Parv's head and the dumpster. Gently he pushed her head against the jacket, ( _human contact._ _disgusting_.) before turning his attention to grabbing her hand. He held it, hoping that such a show of some sort of affection would wake her up, as he unzipped the small pocket on the front of his backpack, pulling out a small paper alcohol wipe. He ripped off the top with his teeth, spitting out the piece of paper on his ground as he wiggled out the damp towelette. Slowly, he cleaned off the paint, listening to the hiss as the few white specks fizzled away, staining the wipe.

"What bit me?" Parv questioned, her fainting episode having only lasted a few seconds though her skin was damp and paler then her usual caramel brown skin.

"Stick figure, duh." He spoke dryly, his cheeks pink against his pale skin as he tried to be as nonchalant as before, embarrassed at his panic only moments before. He wrapped her finger back in one of the band aids that hadn't been contaminated with paint, as he looked up at her, his entire body wanting to seize up at having to make eye contact. But he knew her, and was, comfortable around her- or so he was told by Yaki. "You can't tell anybody about this, okay?"

"Wh-" She began, her eyebrows furrowing as she rubbed at forefinger with a frown, looking up at Isidore.

"No- Just-" He sighed, popping a few strands of hair into his mouth as he began to chew, looking down at the stained towelette in between his fingers. "Trust me? Okay? Please? I promise to be nicer..." he muttered.

Parvati shoved her glasses back up her nose, nodding slowly at all a compromise. "Okay. I'll keep this secret for you, Isi."

After a few moments, he helped her up, only bringing himself to clutch at her forearm tightly as he half pulled half yanked her up to her feet. He scooped up his sea green hoodie, taking a few fleeting moments to quickly tie it around his barely existent waist, before cupping her elbow before she fell into the dumpster. She groaned loudly and clutched at her head, swaying as she attempted to straighten, before taking one step and almost falling on her face. Isidore sighed, yanking her upright as she leaned against his forearm, resting her head on his shoulder as she squeezed her eyes shut with a tight lipped grimace.

Slowly but surely, the two teenagers walked out of the alleyway, only to come face to face with Parv's angry, grocery store owning father, an onslaught of abusive words combined in both Hindi and English erupting from him. He waved about a newspaper as if it was a weapon, his eldest daughter cowering behind him as she only glanced at her phone, sprawled across the sidewalk as it was walked on by passerby.

Isidore raised an eyebrow, a few twitches of annoyance on his face as spittle sprayed onto his features. The only words he caught onto were ' _white boy'_ and ' _whore_ ', which Isidore did _not_ approve of, seeing as how Yaki made him constantly have his daily dose of respect women juice. He wiped at his face with the collar of his Jurassic park shirt, his eyes filled with a glare that he only ever used when he was aggressively tapping on his computers mouse when he was trying to kill a pesky Minecraft zombie.

Parvati was yanked away from Isidore's side, slapped swiftly across the face by her father. It occurred so fast that Isi flinched was well, eyes wide in surprise as he looked at the silent teenage girl towards the raging red faced business owner. She was dragged off, head bowed as an irritated hand mark developed on her cheek.

Isidore simply stared, his fingers curling into the sides of his baggy jeans as he pursed his lips. Of course, he couldn't do anything. He was only 5'4 and roughly hundred pounds, though with the amount of food that he shoveled down his mouth while working at Murakami's, he was sure he was heavier. What could a kid do against an abusive man who was known well in the community? He was _powerless_.

Parv's father gripped the forearms of his two daughters tightly, dragging them down the sidewalk and crossing the street towards the small hole in the wall grocery store. He opened the rickety glass door that was plastered with fliers and stickers, and shoved the two ever so silent girls through. He turned his head, and glared at Isidore.

Isidore tilted his head, holding up his hand to wave, and forced a small smile just the way that Y/n taught him. Parvati's father simply glowering, a scowl written across his dry chapped lips as he stormed into his store, slamming the door shut.

...Or was he as powerless as he believed?


	11. sinning, sinner, sin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tilted his head back against the headrest, taking deep breaths. What was he doing now? Dwelling on memories? What, was he going to have a flashback-

Jared sipped his sad watered down sprite,comfortably situated in his seat, overlooking the busy streets of New York. His vehicle stationed on the last floor of a parking garage, office buildings easily towering over him. He ground his teeth against the the white and yellow straw, a shrill squeaking emitting from enamel grinding against plastic. He wrapped his dark hand around the handle of his seat, yanking it, as it swiftly laid down into the backseat of the car. He crossed his leg over his knee, foot bouncing as he stared at the black upholstery of his car. He exhaled, rapidly tapping his calloused fingers against the plastic of the jumbo cup, perspiration clinging to his skin.

Well. _That_ had gone well.

It was his fault, really; what had he expected? If even he thought about stick figures for way too long, his own thoughts would rally against him and start dissecting such a stupid... theory. But, it wasn't. He had seen them with his own eyes, and they had marked his arm like the little gremlins they were. He wasn't sure why he had even tried. When the laughter had rumbled up from the teenagers, he himself had joined in, knowing fully well how preposterous the whole thing was. It was his own fault anyway. He should have whipped out that image of the decapitated prostitute and slapped it onto Michelangelo's big forehead before he had burst out into a mixture of giggles and disbelief.

Dragging you into this whole mess was the only ray of hope he was clinging onto. In reality, your entire panic attack hit too close to him. He remembered locking himself in the bathroom of a local McDonalds after his first encounter, swallowing down bile as he dragged off layers of melting skin from his battered arm. Nut brown skin, blood, and swirls of dark blue paint seemed eerily beautiful after he had splattered such a mess in the rusty sink, until the smell irritated his nose, causing him to sneeze. And dry heave. Simultaneously. A humiliating experience for a decorated detective at the time.

Jared wondered if he had made the right decision to give you his file. Sure, he had multiple copies stuffed into beige portfolios, but that was only because he always seemed to misplace them. At first, his suspicious hysterical mind had decided that it was the work of stick figures, before his partner had to gently remind him that he _always_ lost things, usually do to his adhd. Many wallets, phones, keys, and earbuds had been lost due to his unorganized state and his simple forgetfulness. He had even managed to lose his wedding ring, after only _two_ months. Or maybe, _it was stick figures._

Jared audibly snorted, feeling his paranoia crawling up his spine, though he tried to brush it off before it really _started_ to bother him. Really though, he felt bad. The entire 'deer in headlights' gaze on your face had caused a whole pity party to start up dancing in his head. He had known from the moment that your blatant unease had been evident, that you had _known_. It was as if he had been staring into the same panicked eyes of his younger self, from about a few years ago.

This exact scenario had played out when he had thrown himself into the existence of mutants, four specific ones actually. It had started out fairly stupid, as these things usually did. A tied up drug dealer who had been pushing injections of diluted mutagen on the citizens of Manhattan had been thrown at his car, slamming into the hood. The dent was still there after all this time, seeing as the precincts budget was slashed more and more often as the years flew by. It had given him quite the fright, causing him to choke on a three day old muffin that he had found under his seat. He had heard laughter though from the rooftops, and someone yelling ' _BULLS EYE'_ in a voice that cracked with puberty.

After that, he had gone down a year long whirlwind of tracking down those elusive brothers. If he could just get ahold of one, he could prove to the world that mutants deserved to be known. That they deserved to be treated as normal as you could be in such a divided world that only saw the color of your skin. Soon enough, he was in over his head, uncovering a scheme of drugs, experiments, the Foot, The Shredder, _aliens_ \- and yet he hadn't stopped. He had kept on, pushing forward through the ridicule and threats and the teasing voice in the back of his head that said he was _crazy_ , that it was all a made up fantastical story that he would never complete. That the story would never end.

Ultimately, it had all come to a climax; **_the_ _invasion_** , dubbed by the frantic media and its reporters who had been there to experience first hand such a frightful day. Jared had been on the front lines, his entire investigation at last rearing it's head in the form of a pompous _supervillain_ clad in metal and knives. Countless soldiers garbed in black outfits and katanas, though, there was no use. They had guns and were ordered to shoot on sight, after civilians had been brutally cut down in the streets, their red ichor spilling into the storm drains.

Jared adjusted himself in his seat, a sigh escaping his lips as he pushed his hand through his crunchy gelled up hair. He let his eyes flutter shut, his free hand sneaking along the armrest attached to the car door, fingers pressing down against the drivers side switch. The window slid down with a soothing whir, leaving a gap that allowed the spring breeze to fill the stuffy car. He tilted his head back against the headrest, taking deep breaths. What was he doing now? Dwelling on memories? What, was he going to have a _flashback_ -

* * *

Jared wiped the speckles of blood from the plastic shield covering the front of his face, feeling his sweat drenched hair stick to the sauna like helmet nestled neatly over his head. He tried to ignore the droplets of salt tickle the back of his neck, feeling the stifling padding press up against his soaked outfit. His arm linked through the handle of the large riot shield in front of him, lined up with his fellow brothers and sisters in arms. The plastic was scattered with deep katana slices and splattered blood. His other hand clutched his useless handgun, his bloodshot eyes peering through all the barriers towards the giant _cabrón_ attired in bullet proof armor. Where had he gotten so much metal? And yet here he was, padded down with what might as well have been pillows against Oroku Saki's wolverine like claws.

Really, how was Oroku Saki _that_ tall? After months of investigation, Jared was ninety nine percent sure that the leader of the Foot, wore about six inches wore heels in whatever shoes he liked to style himself in. The detective would roll his eyes if he wasn't deathly afraid of the chance that the Shredder could _smell_ his annoyance and come marching over to swiftly decapitate him. The ridiculous attire that he currently wore was only useful when being used against protesting civilians, _not_ warriors trained in fierce combat all their lives. He hadn't even _realized_ that such Foot soldiers were primarily androids, until a paramedic had tried to move one of those bodies and the arm popped clean off. Poor guy. 

A helicopter roared overhead, as Jared looked up, feeling the wind tussle and toss up the rubble on the streets in small twirling tornados. The glint of a heavy media cam-recorder hung out of the side of the chopper, the camera operators sunglasses reflecting the catastrophe unfurling across the street. If they had known how many snipers were situated across the rooftops, they may not have felt cocky enough to shove themselves into the midst of battle for a few seconds of footage.

The detective rolled his shoulders, moving his head back down to watch the fight develop before him, feeling uneasy behind some flimsy plastic and a bulletproof vest strapped to his chest. This wasn't his usual line of work; he had spent almost a decade as a police officer, struggling to rise to the title of detective. Investigations was what he was most passionate about. It had begun with simple murders and had escalated to the point of trying to prove the existence of an entire, endangered species. _They're gonna be extinct real soon too,_ he noted wearily, eyeing the four mutants across the street from him and the human wall that he was apart of.

The anxiety that ate away at his empty stomach wasn't all from being close to such a deadly fight. It was the fact that there were four teenage _boys_ , clutching at useless broken Japanese weapons, cut up and bleeding against a dangerous adversary that they had no chance against. If it was up to Jared, he would march up to the mayor of New York City, and demand that they just _bomb_ the Shredder. What else could they do? A _tank_ would be a blessing in disguise at this point. It was times like these that he wished superheroes were still around; a fight between the Shredder and Captain America was one he would _die_ to see.

He hated that he couldn't do anything except stand still and not look mildly bored like the rest of his comrades. He hated that he had _allowed_ himself to become attached to those four mutants. It had been his own fault and his _own_ selfish ambitions blinding himself when he had thrust himself into this whole situation. He had even went as far as getting involved with a reporter who was well known in the small mutant community. Egil Aadland, investigative reporter and author, who had teamed up with Jared to interview those identical men and women with the empty blank soulless eyes, the too formal attire that was outdated in this day and age, and the slicked black metal hair. Egil had even invaded one of the Purple Dragons warehouses, snagging a vial of the new drug invading the street. Diluted mutagen. The exact same components that had created the four teens before him.

It had also helped when a certain foot solider had approached him, one of Oroku Saki's lackeys- and apparently the daughter of the evasive, famous, Leader of the Purple Dragons herself. Though, that hadn't mattered when a certain freckled orange masked mutant had simply walked up to him on a rooftop. Jared had been more focused on his binoculars, surveying the rooftops, that he had almost thrown himself off the side of the building when Michelangelo, hidden in the shadows with a pair of eerie glowing eyes, had chirped out an excited; "You're a stalker, aren't you?"

After that, Jared had learned that an entire cheese pizza was enough to buy a few hours of sitting on the cold concrete rooftop, slowly learning about the sixteen year old and his brothers. Quickly, the teenager had learned to trust him, talking at such a rapid pizza dough spewing rate that Jared was forced to record their conversations, wearing sunglasses less he got spittle in his eyes. Could he himself be mutated through spit, or was that a racist stereotype? And so, the detective had gotten attached, learning so much about the other three mutants that he didn't even need to meet them. He knew them better than he knew his own family, which was saying a _lot_ considering that he was a full blooded Puerto Rican.

Nevertheless, it was obvious as to why he had to physically dig the soles of his shoes into the asphalt before he threw himself into the whole mess unfolding before him. He could feel the beady eyes of his Chieftain bearing into the back of his head. He couldn't help but feel a hint of smugness at her annoyance. He had spent almost a year compiling a file of evidence of the existence of mutants, the experiments, and the Shredders misgivings only to be brushed off every. _single_. _**time**_. Now, they were clad in useless body armor, woefully unprepared to protect their fellow civilians and this new enemy, watching idly by as four teenage mutant ninja turtles fought their battle for them.

"Don't you _dare_." Her monotone voice grated against his ears, a bit too close for comfort, even with his helmet covering his ears. Any other day, he would have made a snide like remark that he hadn't been planning to do _anything_ , which would end up in an argument, being written up; but not today. He could feel his heart beating with the fleeting seconds that he wasn't stepping in to help.

"This is _my_ case." He responded back as respectfully as he could manage through dried lips, mourning the death of the squashed strawberry chapstick in his pocket from rolling to protect a civilian from the katana of a Foot Solider. This body armor was very faulty, and it made him even more nervous considering that he was about to throw himself into the fight in a few mere heart beats.

"Not anymore." Her smug voice was as annoying as ever, but maybe that was because she was _right_. These mutants had been plastered across every channel for the last five hours, and he was sure all hell was breaking loose across social media. "Besides," she paused, probably to adjust her sweat plastered hair that clung to her forehead. "There isn't anything you can do. Stay put, Detective Mayfield- and that's a goddamn _order_."

Jared wanted to shoot the ground, gritting his teeth as he felt the weight of the past twenty four hours strain his muscles. ~~She was right, she was right, she was right!~~ Sure, he could run in- but what could he do? Insult the Shredders mother? Drag the corpse- no the _unconscious_ body of that blue masked mutant who had been thrown _through_ a window so abruptly that maybe it would have been funny- off to the side? And then just awkwardly sit around with his weak armor and useless gun, watching history unfold before him?

The Shredder was _winning_ , and already the NYPD Police Force was pulling back, packing up ambulances of wounded officers and civilians, dismantling tents and pulling down equipment; _abandoning_ his mutants. Jared knew there was only one way of winning this one sided fight, and he couldn't see her anywhere. She hadn't been cut down by an onslaught of bullets during the beginning of the invasion thankfully, and she was much too cocky to run in when the battle was still in its infancy. Maybe she would show up, or maybe she wouldn't. Jared could only hope. He knew that she was the only one who could end this.

His feet started moving forward before his brain even realized, feeling the harsh autumn wind slap against him as he broke into a sprint. The shield became as light as paper, hefted close to his chest, his thumb fingering the trigger of his stupid gun that was awfully small compared to those six inch knives that glinted in the fading moonlight of the morning. His chest heaved, sweat tickled his sideburns, dripping freely from the sides of his stubble ladened jawline. _I didn't shave this morning,_ he grumbled internally. He leapt over knocked over light posts, alit cars that mimicked beacons of Fire that made his silhouette cast uneasy shadows against the streets littered with rubble. He was focused on the red masked one, Raphie, as Mikey had dubbed him. Sure, that wasn't his _name_ per say, but the nickname had less syllables then Raphael. Plus, he hadn't yet had the chance to use it against the foul mouthed mutant.

The way blood stained his teeth, ichor trailing down his body from deep wounds, and splattered against his green skin as if it was a scarred bruised canvas. He was more dodging the Shredder than actually launching attacks, fatigue evident in his sluggish movements. Michelangelo was, how should Jared put this, _trying his best._ Tattered bandaged hands gripping soot ladened chains that wrapped around the shredders neck, trying to yank him to the ground. Or, that may have been his original purpose, if the poor kid wasn't practically blinded with blood in one eye and another painfully swollen. He was being swung about like a rag doll by the Shredder, gripping the ends of melted metal as if he was afraid of being thrown like his eldest brother if he let go. Donatello seemed to be standing off more to the side, grim and silent like the others, jabbing sensitive areas of the Shredders armor as if he was a surgeon dissecting an animal. It was working though, as the metal was littered with holes and deep bleeding wounds.

And yet, they were nowhere near winning. The barely breathing body strewn across the street didn't give the others much hope either. Was he dead? Who knew. No one was able to back away from the battle, afraid that the other two wouldn't be able to keep the Shredder at bay. They needed one another, even more so without their leader, without their _brother_.

Jared skidded to a halt, eyes wide behind his scuffed up visor as his brain panicked in what _he_ had been planning to do when he got to this point. The Shredder seemed like a giant so close up, and the reek of festering wounds and blood didn't help him focus. Ah, ADHD; it would lead to his demise. Egil had told him so, and the grumpy reporter was never wrong in his predictions.

 _ **"¡OYE!"** _The word erupted from his mouth as if he was a using a megaphone, watching as the mutants flinched and only spared him a glance. His feet bounced from side to side, crunching glass underfoot in a nice little rhythm, an Irish jig if you would please. He could hear his boss swearing loudly a mere twenty feet away, which he was sure the SWAT team was enjoying. They wouldn't come to help, oh no, the fun was just beginning.

The Shredder swung his lumbering form around as Jared's grin faltered, but only a bit. _Keep on smiling, annoy the hell out of him._ His motto for life. Besides, facing this antagonist who, up close, seemed to be at _least_ seven feet tall, was enough to make him shake. He blocked his face and upper body with his shield, knowing very well that, if the Shredder was annoyed enough, could simply slap him bodily against the wall, barely breaking a sweat. He was only a detective. He wasn't a trained ninja, a Foot solider, or those identical looking emotionless folk that he was ninety nine percent sure were aliens, which ever only made his partner snort in disbelief. Just another case for him to prove to the world. First mutants, stick figures, and the Kraang.

The three mutants took this brief moment to shuffle away, as Mikey stumbled backwards, his hands cut raw and deep, bending over to vomit up blood, speckled with black poison. Now _that_ wasn't a good sign. Jared tried to cheer himself up with the hope that _maybe_ mutated turtles threw up black lumpy gore in a pile of festering blood _all_ the time. Why not? He was about to be dissected by the Shredder soon enough. He prayed in a few mere words for a quick painless death, and to drag Oroku Saki down to Hell with him.

Jared shook his head slightly, feeling his helmet move freely with the amount of sweat the foam inside had absorbed over countless hours. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, himself unnerved by the bloodshot heady eyes that flared hatefully at him. The detective knew why he wasn't lying in a pool of his blood, humming hymns as his organs were artfully ripped out of his stomach and strewn across the street in a colorful mosaic. Oroku Saki was exhausted; and maybe, just maybe he could use that to his advantage.

Jared tore off his helmet, and threw it at the Shredders head. As the battered padded hat flew across the air in slow motion, a thought slapped Jared. _Wait I have a gun-_ The plastic smacked loudly against the metal covering The Shredder's head, tumbling to the street and rolling across the asphalt to pause by Leonardo's arm; who seemed awfully still for an unconscious person. _Turtles aren't supposed to be pale,_ the detective thought grimly for a passing moment. Then, he giggled abruptly, earning a confused look from Donatello, who had already down three background checks on the detective the same day Leonardo had sent their orange clad brother to meet up with Jared.

Oroku Saki looked more offended then surprised. Seriously? That was all he was going to get? He had expected something more as a distraction. The metal man sighed loudly, disappointed as he lumbered forward to quickly knock the annoying detective aside in one fell swoop and finish with those turtles. He would go for the exposed neck, make the detective struggle on his own blood- a fitting punishment for boring him. He had grown tired of this game, this simple dance between himself and the rest of these so called heroes. He wanted to win, he _deserved_ to.

"Disappointing." The Shredders scratchy deep voice rang out, sounding a **lot** like Thanos as his voice resonating across the street as the commotion of SWAT, paramedics, police officers, firefighters, really anyone who could help, fell silent. Even the ambulances ceased their wailing, though that was only a panicking EMT who did not want to attract the villains wrath.

"You sound like mi madre," Jared laughed nervously, taking uneasy steps backwards, thankful for his long legs padded with riot armor. It was only made to withstand bricks and bottles, maybe a few bullets if he was lucky. _Not_ those glimmering butcher knives that looked straight out of a horror movie. Though with his matted hair, bloodshot eyes, and glowing skin drenched in sweat, he may as well had been. He wasn't a simple white girl- he wasn't going to go screaming towards his death, he had plans to live after all. His eyes flicked to stare over the Shredders shoulder, the once faltering smile widening to reveal glistening teeth that would have blinded The Shredder if this was a cartoon.

Oroku Saki caught the relieved, joyous gaze of the detective that may as well been an annoying cockroach to the well trained adversary, and tried to turn around. Hey, this armor was heavy and he was absolutely exhausted by the hours of combat. His body had realized the trick before his own mind had stumbled upon it..

The chain that had been loosely wrapped around his neck was swiftly yanked, as the man who was covered from head to toe in heavy impenetrable armor that may have easily added one hundred pounds in his usual weight, was pulled into the ground. His helmet slammed into the asphalt, smacking a bruise into his forehead as he gritted his teeth, a pained groan escaping him involuntary. That was the thing about wearing armor. You could still become injured while inside of it.

Sukiyaki yanked the black mask off of her head, _ever the drama queen,_ tossing it aside with a blood stained grin, dyed green hair sticking to her sweat ladened forehead. She twisted the chain around her wrists, skillfully as if she was a master perfecting her craft, pulling it tightly as the metal links slipped from the base of the helmet to jab itself against the shredder's bare neck, cutting off his air for the moment. The villain snarled, about to jab his once loyal, most powerful underling, when he realized that the katana like claws attached to his hands had been sliced clean off. He sputtered, before the sound turned into a pitiful squeak as the chain tightened. "How's it going, Jared?" Yaki hummed, quite unnerved by the fact that she had managed to drag her oppressor to his knees.

Jared pushed his hair from his eyes, wincing at the smear of oil and sweat against his hand. "Took you long enough."

The Foot Soldier shrugged, pulling a glistening katana speckled with blood and a few chunks of skin on the blade that was strapped to her back. "Yeah, well, Karai tried to decapitate me _three_ times. Turns out she's _really_ attached to this guy." The tamahagane slammed against the Shredders bloodied metal gloves, a growl escaping the antagonist. Sukiyaki scoffed loudly, raising an eyebrow that had not seen the light of day for months. "That's rude. And here I was thinking that I was your favorite."

The Shredder growled loudly, resonating throughout his helmet. " _Traitor_." His voice was hoarse, grating like the screech of nails against a claw board. And yet, it was a powerful enough to echo throughout the street towards the group of weak humans all simultaneously holding their breath. The world was pinned to their screens, the reporters and anchors all silent and stiff.

Sukiyaki pulled the chain tighter with a crazed look in her reddish brown eyes, slamming her foot against the man's helmet, right back into the ground. Her mouth curled into a thin scar riddled smile, dry as ever as her tongue dragged against the blood that smeared her lips. "Took you long enough to figure it out, _jackass_." The hatred seethed through her scratchy low voice, her voice quiet for the first time in her life.

Jared took off running, deciding that this was the best time to retreat. After all, he wouldn't want to get between a Purple Dragon trained in the ways of the Foot, against her very own master. _I have other matters to attend to,_ he thought. He tossed the shield aside as he linked his hands underneath Leonardo's arms, dragging him away as quickly as he could as the sound of metal against metal resonating throughout the street. He tried not to think of the asphalt of the street tearing at the open wounds on Leonardo's skin, glass embedded into his bleeding flesh. Why hadn't his lesions clotted already? He had been bleeding for a long time at this point... He should be dead. At the thought, Jared shook his head violently, his jaw set. No. He would not be losing anyone on his watch today.

The Shredder had managed to fight his way out of that chain choke hold, towering over the dark skinned teenager who looked like a mere doll before him. Even though it would seem that he was powerless without his claws, he still had his strength, rejuvenating by the fact that the girl he had taken in, his Goddaughters own child, had betrayed him in such a way. His eyes were practically aflame, his breathing heavy and labored. Sukiyaki ducked, rolled, flipped, slid, and jumped away from the clumsy slashes and punches of her adversary. A laugh escaped her lips as she twirled twin katanas in her hands, having an absolute _blast_. She was doing a great job of hiding her turbulent emotions, or how her knees shook violently. The only thought that kept her going was the fact that her mother would be greatly disappointed in her. It almost brought a smile to her face.

Jared dragged the unconscious mutant up with a grunt of pain at how his toned muscles strained in years of training, wrapping his arms around the kids plastron. His chest heaved with wheezy weak breaths, as the detective tried not to focus on the fact that this teenager was _dying_. It wasn't good to focus on the negative, anyway! At least, that's what his therapist always told him, even if he was wildly suspicious that she was cooperating with the stick figures.

The detective paused, a few mere feet away from the two mutants that were trying to stuff their youngest brother into a van with a stern red head at the steering wheel, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and sticking to any ounce of skin that was drenched in sweat. Her white sleeves had been torn off, and were wrapped around the wounded head of a disoriented teenage boy, his floppy black hair matted down with blood as he stood idly by Raphael. His dark brown eyes were not focused, his mouth slack and his chest heaving as he looked upon the wounds of the once joyful mutant turtle, who was whimpering and making small cries of noise as he was carried into the backseat.

Jared swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he pressed two thin fingers underneath the sharp jaw of the limp mutant turtle in his arms, his heart pounding wildly against his bulletproof vest. _Dios santo por favor, perdónanos por nuestros pecados_ , he thought internally, his mind chanting the prayer over and over again as he pressed harder and harder, sure that he was going to leave a bruise on the boy. The artery let out a weak pulse, erratic and gentle, like the flaps of a butterflies wings. The detective exhaled loudly, his shoulders sagging shakily as he looked down at the kid in his arms. For a moment, he revised all the information, stories, jokes, and snippets that Michelangelo had told him over a few cans of Coca-Cola. A smile twitched onto his lips before he paused, a particular memory being unveiled.

_"He's all about justice, since he's like, a leader and all that Jazz." The orange clad mutant's knee bounced up and down, as Jared wondered if he was going to regret giving the kid all that sugar as he eyed the three discarded cans wearily. "He says that he doesn't want The Shredder to die, he says that it's too easy for a jerk-wad like him.”_

Jared tried to swallow, but felt like a handful of wax had been crammed down his throat as he looked over his shoulder.

Sukiyaki was tearing off armor off the fallen ruler of the Foot, her chest heaving as she pulled and yanked with surprising speed. She blinked sweat from her eyes as the droplets smeared onto her long eyelashes, her teeth chewing her bottom lip raw as her body shook with the happiness of what she was about to do with him. She moved her hand to reach for the katana strapped to her back, the heel of her shoe pressing down hard into the side of The Shredder's unconscious face. She paused, her eyes flicking over to the spot on the sidewalk where Leonardo had laid moments before, covered with glass and blood. Nimbly, she kicked up the still intact katana, a red three fingered handprint still gripping the handle. She cleaned it off on her hip, a hum escaping her lips as she wrapped both hands around it, lifting it above her head. "Ding dong, the witch is dead." She sang, a grin escaping her lips.

"Wait!" Jared cried out, his eyes wide as he himself was surprised that he was speaking. What was he planning to do? He glanced down at Leonardo, the rasping wheezing sending rakes of pain down the detectives own chest. Oh, right. He lifted his head, his lips pressed into a thin uneasy line. "Don't kill him." A stray giggle escaped his mouth before he pursued his lips and shook his head, trying to recover. He didn't like the murderous look in her russet brown eyes as she slowly turned her head to stare at him, her breathing labored.

"What?" Her statement was echoed by the two surprised brothers who had scurried up to Jared and were carefully bundling Leonardo in between their arms. The unconscious mutant mumbled something, and the detective decided that it was fitting if he was mumbling _what?_ in his state as well.

Jared cleared his throat, raising both hands at his side as his calm eyes scanned the teenager. It was a mistake to involve her, but that didn't matter. It was the mistake of Sukiyaki's mother, who had handed off her only daughter to this monster of a man, and had caused her so much damage. He could see the red dot of a laser pinned on the back of Yaki's head, the shaved black dome framed by flopping green hair. He could see his Chieftain out of the corner of her eyes, the expression on her face grim as she nodded forward once. He swallowed harshly as he met the chaotic eyes of the half Arabic half Japanese girl. "Killing him won't change the damage he's done to the city, to everyone's he's killed or injured, or to you." He spoke in a loud clear voice, hoping that the microphones attached to the camera situated on the building to his left was picking this all up. "He deserves the right to a fair trial, to go to jail for a long time." His voice almost drowned it out, pained as he was that he was doing this.

Yaki stammered, putting down her arms as she stared at the exposed face of Oroku Saki. He seemed ancient in this lighting. "A fair _trial_? **_Jail_**?!" She spoke in disbelief, raising her gaze towards the detective.

Jared nodded. "Just like your mother."

Sukiyaki stiffened, and for a terrifying moment the detective believed that one of those trigger happy snipers had put a bullet through her head, but as the moments fluttered past, he was relieved to discover that that wasn't true. Long seconds past, as those pained reddish brown eyes stared at the space over his shoulder. Jared didn't have to look to know that she was staring at Raphael, knowing fully well that the mutant wanted to kill The Shredder himself- the detective looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see how tired the mutant was. He was, what, seventeen? And yet he seemed like he had lived through countless years of bloody war, his once bright electric eyes dull as he clutched the upper body of his brother in his arms.

Yaki tossed aside Leonardo's katana, as it slid across the street until it stopped a few feet away from the detective. He let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding as he bent down and picked it up by the handle, surprised at how light it felt. He lifted his head, mouth open to thank her, but she was gone.

* * *

Jared was rudely slapped out of his flashback. Literally. He felt the small rectangular paper hand hit against his sunken in cheek mole ladened cheek, a small paper cut appearing on his skin. It hurt. A _lot_.

His eyes snapped open, a small gasp erupting from his lips, though he held himself back from violently failing. His hand shot up to gently touch the small drop of blood that oozed from the wound, long eyelashes fluttering as he tried to focus on the thing before him. The _last_ **_thing_** he wanted was to scare the stick figure happily perched on his chest and ruin his mood. Just kidding! He didn't want to die. He thought such a statement with a flustered smile, his heart beating wildly.

The detective stopped breathing, his hands held aloft on either side of his head as if _he_ was the criminal being told to approach an officer with his hands up in the air. The irony was not lost to him. He slowly rubbed his eyes with his fingertips that had been everywhere except some hand sanitizer, taking a small breath before he passed out and the little gremlin feasted on his neck. He was convinced that's what these little guys liked to do, though his only evidence was a picture of a decapitated prostitute shoved into a crevice somewhere.

"Where have _you_ been these last few months?" He scoffed gently, his tone of an annoyed berated boyfriend as his eyebrows furrowed together. He sure did act as if he was _genuinely_ upset at the fact that the stick figures hadn't paid him a visit in a while. And hey, maybe he was! Don't judge him.

The stick figure squeaked, situated in a crouched position as it began to arch its back in and out excitedly.

"That is _not_ an answer." Jared paused, a small part of him feeling harassed. "And stop trying to mate with me, I'm married." He huffed, draping his wrist over his forehead, as he was already exhausted at holding his hands aloft. He eyed the white stick figure suspiciously, a red crayon smile drawn on its flat face- unnerving. "What do you want? If you try and eat me again, so help me-"

It stuck out it's tongue at Jared. The detective was frankly startled at such a childish expression that reminded him of his daughter, or even his pet parakeet that did so when he asked for a kiss. He decided to answer with a loud guffaw in deep hurt.

Naturally, it took a few seconds for him to recover from such an offense until he realized that that wasn't a tongue sticking out of its little round face, but a small scrap of paper with words etched on it. Written out with cut out magazine letters of differing sizes, shapes, and colors, the words-

"Go away Sinner." The detective paused, his lips puckering up into a kiss as he eyed the patient stick figure perched on his chest. "I'll get away when you get off of my chest, buddy." He couldn't help but smirk, internally patting himself on the back for such a witty remark. He would have to add that to his small notebook that he kept... somewhere in his car. Only Egil knew where his things were... like a _witch_.

The stick figure squeaked once more, nodding its head as it's flat paper face bent in half forward, before straightening. It leapt from Jared's chest, a small weight lifting off of it like a mere breeze had brushed against his shirt. It folded its little flat rectangular paper hands over the window cracked open, wiggling over and through. It waved at Jared, before sliding down the side of the car and scampering towards the ledge of the rooftop. Then, with a little shake of its one foot tall body, it jumped off.

Jared laid there for a few minutes, clutching the paper in between his forefingers and thumbs, his heart pounding terribly fast against his chest. He swallowed harshly, sitting up from his laid down position as he reached towards the sun visor. He snapped it open, reaching for the picture hastily taped to it. He hunched forward, his forehead pressing against the steering wheel. 

A picture of himself strapped with a pair of fabulous pink fairy wings covered in silver blinding glitter that he was still finding across the apartment, a little girl with tightly brown ringlets of hair in his arms decked out in Princess Barbie attire, a large grin on her bedazzled face. Hugging them both, Egil Aadland-Mayfield, a forced crooked smile on his pale, radiating glitter face with a tiara ceremoniously slapped on his head.

"Well babe," Jared sighed, rubbing his thumb over the picture, his eyes flitting over to the _threat_ brought to him by one of those gremlin antagonists. "Our first death threat as a couple." He tried to smile, but it only hurt. He straightened in his seat, slipping the picture back onto the sun visor.

He turned the keys in the ignition, the car roaring to life as he adjusted his seat back into an upright position. He slapped his hands against his face, tucking the little piece of paper into his jacket pocket.

The car pulled out of its parking space, driving off to the ramp of the parking garage. The stick figure peered over the edge of the concrete structure, pigeon feathers sticking out of the slit that made up his maw. It's crayon grin was smeared with blood, above it's slash of a mouth, as it chewed slowly. The feathers stuck out the back of its flat head, being chewed in half as the scraps fluttered down towards the bustling streets of Manhattan. The stick figure squeaked.

Everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, next chapter, we’ll be back to business.


	12. fine? i don’t think so.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You heard what sounded like an angry elephant making its way towards the door. You barely had time to roll your eyes before a familiar low voice rang out, shrill with annoyance.

You had locked yourself in the restaurant's all inclusive family bathroom, not taking the time to admire the random decorations put there by the blind owner, as you dry heaved. _Violently_. Gripping the sides of the toilet, trying your best not to think about the amount of germs crawling along the porcelain, as your throat burned with bile. Your hands shook violently as you gasped out, feeling the tile floors cut into your vibrantly tacky jean covered knees. You spat loudly, attempting to rid your mouth of the taste of stomach acid, as you shakily straightened your back. You felt so weak, fragile; as if your body was devoid of any weight and you were a dust particle being tossed about in the still bathroom of the restaurant. You reached out with an arm that shook violently, flushing the toilet, though there was only honey lemonade mixed with water to swirl down the drain.

Feeling the rush of relief that usually overcame you after a bout of anxiety induced nausea, you sunk from your crouched position to the floor, feeling your jeans pressed against the cold ground. You pressed your forehead into your hands, swaying back and forth as you kneaded the tense flesh. After a few long minutes of self pity and loathing against your sick brain, you straightened once again from your hunched position. You glared around the small family bathroom, feeling the plain white walls press on against you. Every little cutesy decoration, from the vases filled with fake flowers to the paintings of soothing landscapes made you want to scream. Surprisingly, the Dragons hadn't messed with the restroom, leaving it mostly intact except for dumping the canisters of soap against the ground and stuffing the toilet with paper towels. The things that an edgy adolescent would do if given free reign.

You stood up, your sweaty palms pressing against the cinderblock walls that sapped at any excess heat. Your knees rattled, as the burning acid that still resided in your throat and mouth seemed to send you into another state of nausea. You definitely needed to eat. How long could a girl go without food? You remembered your first few days working at Murakami's. You had been so desperate to have the owner and the other elusive young employee like you, that you had worked yourself to the point of collapsing. Turns out your body did a really _crappy_ job of sending you internal messages such as; _hey! I need to eat, right now!_

It had been _quite_ embarrassing when you had fainted in the dining room, sending a platter of drinks right into the lap of a prominent business woman. A CEO of the local indie animation studio that you had been vying for some sort of internship with your art work. That was when you had stopped animating and had done an entire one eighty towards more realistic paintings. Turns out, your paintings were a lot better than you. And yet, though it _had_ been an utterly humiliating experience; you still hadn't learned your lesson.

You stumbled to the small sink in the corner, gripping the porcelain as if it was some sort of lifeline to your deteriorating condition. You wondered; was spitting up blood normal? Or was that just the acid in your body eating away at your stomach lining and throat? You let out a breathy giggle, which made your poor abused throat constrict in pain. The nausea due to your anxiety had never gotten this bad before; not even when you had lived in your little hometown.

The tiled floors seemed to dip and slide out of the corners of your vision, like the waves at a turbulent beach. You wiped the excess spit on your bottom lip on the back of your hand, grimacing at the pink liquid smeared against your skin. Well that's not a great sign. With a deep intake of breath, you forced yourself to look in the mirror.

To say you looked awful was an understatement. Now, **_grotesque_** ; that was an even better description of your physical appearance at the moment. You dragged your fingers along the red bumps dotting your jawline, prodding gingerly at the white dots until they bled. Gore flowed freely from the little holes in your skin that you never let heal. The ugly shirt that you had yanked from a broken hanger in the closet you shared with Yaki seemed to increase your image of a victim.

Now _that's_ what you looked like. That lifeless beheaded prostitute in that picture with her clammy sickly skin and the dried blood on her precious neck. With her damaged, skimpy cheap clothes and the desperate attempt to look pretty. The patches of concealer that hadn't fully dried that had been left behind on... _what_ remained of her neck. You touched the dot burned into your forehead, digging your nail inside; hoping that the pain would make the images burned into your retinas go away. It was reddish, with tight skin freshly mended over the small pockmark. The second dot from the mixture of murderous paint, alcohol, and bleach wasn't likely to scar, but this one was. It reminded you of the red dot that Parvati's mother wore religiously on her forehead, as a symbol of her marriage.

You slumped to the ground, wallowing in self pity. _I should've just eaten lunch when I had the chance._

After Jared had driven off into the early afternoon Manhattan traffic, blaring his police sirens to clear a way, which seemed _highly_ unprofessional in your mind; you had simply stood there on the corner side of the street, listening to the bustling crowds shove you to and fro. Eventually, Yaki had been forced to saunter outside and drag you back in the restaurant where Donatello had _rudely_ stuck a thermometer into your throat, muttering about the Coronavirus, which had finally made you snap out of your stupor. Being forced to deep throat a glass thermometer just does that to people.

It took the rest of the day to clear out the Purple Dragon inflicted rubble of the restaurant; from ripped apart tables and chairs, to large amounts of products having been tossed into the oven and burned beyond recognition. The vegetables, fruits, and neat plastic containers of flour and sugar had been strewn across the linoleum floors of the pantry, where Mikey had promptly laid down and made a trashy version of a snow angel. Yaki had been forced to spray down his shell to rid him of his self inflicted mess. The bulletin board in the back hallway had been ripped off, the printed out memes, hotlines for abuse and suicide, and other announcements in the community having been dutifully ripped to shreds. The only thing left untouched was Murakami's private office, where Yaki herself had attached over ten different types of locks to the door. All in all, there were just hundreds of dollars, down the drain.

Once Murakami had woken up from his stress induced nap, he had gone with Yaki into his neat office filled to the brim with licenses, filing cabinets, and countless pictures of satisfied customers- where they stayed for over three hours. It wasn't hard to figure out what they were discussing, especially with the costly damage those gangsters had done to the restaurant that had been around for close to forty years. It flared up a rage that made you want to storm down to wherever the base was, and slap whoever was in charge. Maybe even _kneeing_ them in the groin, something that you had always wanted to try against a bad guy. How _dare_ they destroy the very dreams of this man, who had immigrated alone and _blind_ to this cut throat city; building up his very own restaurant and reputation from the ground up? Your anger was quite evident when you had whacked a crouched Mikey in the forehead with your broom while mulling over such thoughts, sending a few pieces of glass flying that had cut up his skin. Really, _all_ you were doing this entire day was hurting people. First Leonardo and now Mikester.

 _Mikester_? Just how close were you becoming to this family? A hysterical giggle that bubbled in your chest and erupted so suddenly from your mouth that you instinctively slapped a hand over your lips. You’re part of this ' _family_ ' too, remember? You shook your head, allowing your hand to slip from your mouth, slapping numbly against the sink. You felt your bone vibrate, as you curled your fingers into the palm of your hand. _Focus_. _Go over the_ _events_. You could practically hear your nanny whispering that to you as her warm fingers brushed through your hair. Why were you thinking about her now? A pang of guilt gnawed at your heart as you shook your head, glaring at yourself in the mirror.

Eventually, Yaki had left the small office, exhausted but with a glint of an indiscernible emotion in her eyes. Once she had given you the news of the decision Mura had made, you weren't sure whether to giggle like a mad person, cry, or do both in an overwhelming expression of emotion. Murakami's Japanese Restaurant was to be closed for one _entire_ week.

 _Never_ before in your two years of working as a cook had this restaurant ever closed. Not during Christmas, not during thanksgiving, not even after a _blizzard_ had crippled the city. The only day you could recall was 9/11, and even then the restaurant owner made sure that his employees took that free time to visit the grand memorial to pay their respects to the dead. After all, Murakami was an old fashioned owner through and through, binding himself to the people in this community who's very own grandparents had been faithful diners to this establishment. _Everyone_ knew Murakami. From the paramedics, firefighters, and officers who showed up early in the morning for a complimentary hearty dish, to the children running around on the streets having escaped neglectful or abusive parents, who always knew that Murakami's was open for a warm place to sleep and a hearty dish. He had built this restaurant on the back of his kindness and generosity. The food that he expertly made from his twenty five years living in Japan evident in his delicious meals even after thirty five years of being open. He had never been robbed, never been harassed, never been disrespected in all this time. Which was why it hurt so much now. They had torn apart this establishment with little care to this disabled man in his sixties. And the thought that they had broken into his own apartment with malicious intent, had made it even worse.

Alas though, Yaki had been over the _moon_ at a chance of being free of any responsibilities for an entire week, having approached you with a giddiness that felt incredibly out of character for the woman. And so, you had forced a smile and nodded, continuing on your mission to wipe away the chewed up tobacco that the dragons had spit along the walls of the back hallway in a final 'F you', to the restaurant. Literally. They had written the simple phrase all over with their grubby fingers and blackened spittle- it smelled atrocious.

The brothers had been an enormous help was well, with Donatello fixing up the ancient air conditioning system that had been gutted open by a frivolous gangster. Michelangelo had been dead set on his mission to make you smile after your catastrophic panic attack, succeeding when he realized that if he prodded you in the ribs with his broom, you would involuntary squeal and smack him away with your dirty rag. Raphael had lugged away decimated pieces of furniture with an annoyed cat perfectly balanced on his head like a very trashy wig, clearing out the restaurant until it was practically bare except for the bolted down booths along the walls.

And Leonardo... well, you hadn't paid him much attention. He had attempted to help his red masked brother with a particularly heavy table that had had its legs sawed off, until he had ripped through the messy stitches on his left shoulder that Yaki had messily sewed the first night he had arrived. The gasp of pain that escaped him and the involuntary tears that had welled up in his always so sad eyes had almost made you drop your broom and sprint over to cradle his face in between your hands. You had almost forgotten that he had been attacked, and that he was still healing from the mysterious wounds inflicted upon him from some unidentified enemy. Even if his once blackened eye had ceased with his swelling, with a large purple bruise surrounding the vibrant blue.

But, you had stayed strong and ignored it, scraping along shards of shattered glass from the once intact windows into a corner, as Donatello's mother hen instincts kicked into full gear as he scrambled to his older brothers aid. A wounded Leonardo had been shuffled off into the pantry, where a very annoyed Isidore had been brooding for the past few hours after returning from school.

The fourteen year old seemed... _angry_ , worse then when Sukiyaki had confronted him over the fact that he wasn't taking his meds. His entire body language had screamed don't talk to me when he had shoved a concerned Yaki aside (though she had barely moved an inch over). Once before he had stormed into the restaurant with a rage that you hadn't seen since he attacked one of the delivery boys after being off of his medication. Him loathing his medication that was supposed to make him better was an occurring event in the restaurant. 

When you had walked in to check on him, he had been comically strewn across the very same table Leo had been placed upon that very first night. His arm had been draped over his eyes, his other hand playing an imaginary piano in the air as a pair of clunky headphones were situated over his long blond hair. The music was just loud enough for anyone to know that he was listening to Bohemian Rhapsody, a cult classic. The only song that he played over and over and over again on the impeccable vintage boom box that Murakami kept in his office.

And yet, what had led to you holing yourself in the small bathroom attempting to heave up your stomach lining? What was the stupid, pathetic, _absurd_ reason that you had scampered off like an emotional four year old that had just had their favorite toy taken away? Well, Donatello had started to ask questions that you, simply put, didn't know the answer to. He had seen you skedaddle into Jared's car minutes after Leonardo had ventured out into the alleyway, and watched as you threw up right on the street after Jared had shown you such a gruesome piece of evidence. Did he go around shoving evidence into the faces of anyone who would listen? You immediately brushed away such a bitter thought. You should be thankful that he took the time to approach you and give you such a precious file, even if you had wanted to shake him by the shoulders and scream what was wrong with him into his slim dark face.

It didn't take a genius, ( _cue an annoyed glare to the mostly silent yet overwhelmingly intelligent, bumbling mutant)_ , to figure out that you were sympathizing with the detectives so-called conspiracy theory. Your stiff reaction to the evidence Jared had laid out on the dining table, to your sudden unexplainable panic attack that had caused you to attack Leo with a ferocity that seemed... animalistic. So, the purple masked mutant did what he did best. He began to pester you. "Stick figures are made out of... paper, right? Well, how could they have taken down a hundred and eighty pound gangster with a few paper cuts? A thin blade could have been used; the Purple Dragons have a wide variety of weapons, after all. Maybe it was a gang initiation that went wrong." And the one question that made you want to strangle his giraffe looking neck; "How do you know that the picture wasn't faked? You can do anything with photoshop these days, and the photograph is much too blurry to be anything other than a silhouette."

That had been the final straw. You had thrown down your broom in what seemed like a pitiful tantrum, and made a beeline for the bathroom, feeling the anxiety of the entire day coming to a toll. How many times a day could a girl throw up? The little you had eaten had already been expelled after a graphic murder scene was unceremoniously shoved into your face, ( _thanks Jared!_ ). You had been sure that it was just going to be a bit of dry heaving for your troubles, but nope. You had thrown up pure stomach acid and honey lemonade that had bubbled down to a sickly yellow that now made you loathe the very drink that you were known for introducing to the restaurant.

You had stuffed the file into the crammed locker covered in stickers and graffiti, not showing any remorse as the beige portfolio bent and twisted to fit behind the giant pink backpack that you always lugged with you. It was your personal copy now, and it had made you feel a tad better to abuse it, as if it were a simple, stick figure that wasn't able to bite back. You just couldn't bring yourself to care now. Donatello was much, _much_ smarter than you- that you had picked up after his rant on quantum physics and how it related to everyday life, while you had held a flashlight for him out of pure boredom as he set out to fix the shattered vending machine. He had even tried to dumb it down for your sake, but all you had heard was tv static emitting from his mouth.

You decided that a few more moments of deep breathing was what you deserved. This day had turned out to be horrible, and your heart suddenly lurched with your last interaction with Leo. Shoving him away when all he had wanted was to help you, especially after you had scratched him up in a way that would've made Lady Garbage proud, if the orange tabby cat cared. It's not his fault that he doesn't know, you reasoned internally. _I would be skeptical too of... stick figures. He doesn't know that he hurt me._ And yet, another part of you said screw him, he should know better. Life in Manhattan was filled with crazy occurrences, and you could go on and on with what you had personally seen. Four mutated anthropomorphic turtles with ninja skills being at the _very_ top of that long list. You decided then and there that he deserved to be ignored for the rest of the day. You still cared for him as a friend, even as family as he had pointed out that fateful night. And didn't family members get into the occasional disagreement? Though certainly not over the existence over carnivorous stick figures, but, you digressed.

You turned on the faucet, cupping your hand under the cool water as you rubbed it along your pink twinged face. After a few seconds of thought, you put some of the tap water in your mouth, swishing it about in an attempt to wash out the taste. You spit, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand as you turned off the faucet. You dried your face on the collar of your shirt, pausing as you closed your eyes.

You heard what sounded like an angry elephant making it’s way towards the door. You barely had time to roll your eyes before a familiar low voice rang out, shrill with annoyance.

" _Y/n!_ " Huffed Yaki, because who else could it be, as she banged her fist on the door. "Raph's ignoring me, again-" You imagined the woman pausing to send a withering glare at her on and off boyfriend. "And I need you to give me your undivided attention." She paused once more, tapping her fingers in a rhythm against the wooden frame. "Please."

There was something about Sukiyaki's blatantly normal... Yaki-ness, that seemed to break the little stability that your anxiety hadn't been able to latch onto with its jaws and toss around like a chew toy in the maw of a dog. This day had taken a _huge_ toll on you, from the restaurant that had become a second home being trashed, the gnawing fear of Murakami almost being murdered in his sleep, to the emotional whiplash of being presented with evidence that maybe, you _weren't_ crazy, and maybe, just _maybe_ , stick figures were real. Not to _mention_ the fact that Leonardo had brushed off the existence of those murderous gremlins, and Donatello's headache inducing questions that had finally pushed you to your limits. You were fighting a losing battle with your anxious mind, and here was Yaki complaining about her boyfriend not giving her enough attention. What were you, a _backup_? She hadn't even given you a tad bit of worry after your panic attack, having holed herself up in the office with Mura. You felt abandoned and hurt, emotions that hadn't presented itself since you had lived with your parents.

And so, the anxieties of the day came crashing down, and you began to cry.

You couldn't remember the last time you sobbed this badly. Your emotions had been bottled up for months, as you thought it best not to worry or stress anyone out with your feelings. Especially the avalanche of newfound ones, built up over the chaotic harrowing events of past days. After all, Yaki was a badass, brutish.... _butch_ who had little care for emotions, unless they had to do with season finales or getting her boyfriend to be the gentle sort that she knew was hidden underneath sarcasm, muscle, and lots of stress induced drinking. _I don't want her to worry_ , you convinced yourself as you tugged up the collar of your shirt for you to bite onto, trying to still the sobs that caused your entire frame to shake.

You stumbled away from the sink, slumping against the wall between the toilet and the fixed basin. You pulled your knees to your chest as you hunched over, trying to muffle yourself. But there was nothing that could stop the whimpers and bouts of hyperventilating gasps that escaped you- which was all Yaki needed to hear to know. In a matter of mere seconds, her experience took over as she picked the lock and practically threw herself against the door in a fit of panic. The doorknob slammed into the wall, possibly leaving a mark in the cinderblocks. It wouldn't be the first time.

She crossed the family bathroom in a few quick skips that seemed more ballerina-esque than killer, crouching in front of you. Her mouth was twisted into a frown, a line between her furrowed brow that made her seem ages older than she actually was. She let her arms rest against her bent knees, her calloused hands twisting together in a nervous frenzy. Her long dark pianist like fingers had a few spongebob bandaids slapped on, evidence of small wounds she had acquired from the cleanup.

You didn't look at her. You only focused on how your nails bit small crescent moons into the sides of your arms as you hugged yourself in some sort of self pity. It was better then to stare into her intrusive eyes that you swore could sometimes read your thoughts.... That was the paranoia talking, wasn't it? You bit down on your bottom lip, less you start giggling like a maniac and rolling around on the bathroom floor.

Sukiyaki pursed her lips, eyeing you. "... Did he hurt you?" Her entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders tensed, her fingers curled into two tight fists, as her eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits. It looked like she was about to pounce and strangle; and yet you weren't scared at all. And if she did try to murder you, at this point, you would probably thank her. Let this be someone else's problem, not yours.

You jerked, almost violently, looking up at her with wide and confused eyes. Where did that come from? Leo? Hurting you? It seemed absurd, though, that was what happened... in a way. Was being hurt _emotionally_ the same thing? "Um... What?" Your throat was so raw that it had taken an affect on your voice. You sounded like you smoked a pack a day.

Yaki huffed, as she got down on her knees, shuffling across the floor to sit next to you. "Did Leonardo hurt you? 'Cause... I'll kill him. 'Swear on Allah." She snaked an arm around your shoulders, and easily pulled you into her warm side.

"No!" The word came out in such an abrupt manner that it made Yaki jump in surprise. You cleared your throat, feeling it twinge with pain as you rubbed it with your fingers. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you rested your head against her chest. "He-" You sniffled, wiping at the tear streaks along your cheeks with your fingertips. "He didn't." You shook your head, wiping your nose on the back of your wrist.

"Then..." Sukiyaki paused, brushing away tears that had slid along your jawline and down your neck. "Why're you crying?" She frowned, rubbing her hand along your exposed arm littered with reddish nail marks. "I haven't seen you cry since... the last time you called your mom." She cleared her throat, feeling the weight of even bringing up your mother crushing her chest. The both of you didn't like to discuss mother's.

"It's..." You dragged your hands down your face, feeling your puffy eyes puffy, dry and _irritated_ with each blink. You were so exhausted and wanted to sleep. Your fingers itched to hold onto that file and rip it to shreds. Just forget about it! "Lady Garbage loudly announced himself as he sauntered in as if he owned the place, water dripping from his orange and white furry chin. He seemed particularly cocky, with Raphael's tattered bandana hanging from his mouth. It brought a weak chuckle from you as you sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's just been a really rough day." You rested your head against Yaki's shoulder, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

"Oh, baba." Yaki sighed, as she couldn't help but avert her eyes to her cat, who paused in the middle of the bathroom, mewling loudly for attention. The bathroom door was still in its paralyzed state from where Yaki has crippled it. Outside, it was awfully quiet; devoid of any chaotic mutant turtles, a polite restauranteur who had just narrowly escaped death, and a particularly angsty white boy. "I know." She frowned, tracing a calloused dark finger along the bridge of your nose. "It has been. For all of us."

Not like this! You wanted to scream at her, maybe even slam your fists into the tiled floors below you until you bled and felt something other than paranoia, anger, sadness, oh and betrayal? Or was that _too_ dramatic, even for your own tastes? Your eyes burned again as the tears blurred your vision. You clamped your hands over your face, inhaling shakily as it burned along your stomach acid ladened throat. "I'm sorry. I know how much you hate crying." You muttered, feeling like a child under your mothers reign once more. You could see her rage, gripping your chin so tightly as she hissed that she would give you a reason to cry. And she never broke her promise.

Yaki barked out a bitter laugh, tossing her head back as it smacked quite loudly against the wall. Lady G, who had curled in between the legs of the both of you, meowed in sync with Yaki's laughter, as if he was chortling with her. "Do you _really_ think that matters to me, Y/n?" She looked back down at you, a lopsided grin illuminating her features. "Look, if you need to cry, then cry." She gave you a one armed shrug. "I'm not gonna judge you, you should know that." She let out a small breathy laugh, as if she was appalled that you would think of her in such a way.

"What _I_ think is that you must have a pretty good reason if you're having a breakdown in the bathroom of a restaurant, Babita." She made a noise between a chuckle and a snort, trying to smother it so that she could spare your particularly delicate feelings. She purses her lips, sending you a worried glance that she had stepped over the line.

"Yeah. I guess I do." You nodded, wondering if your feelings were valid and that you weren't just... overreacting. That had always been your worst fear. Blowing things out of proportion. You could thank your mother for that. "How... How come you didn't go after me when I, you know... Panicked?" Your mouth felt dry as you licked your lips. You were worried what her answer would be. That she was too busy with her _boyfriend_ to spare you a thought?

"Well, I knew you needed your space." She pushed her fingers through her black quiff, before she let her hand drop to massage Lady G's head. "Besides, you should've seen how quickly Leo scrambled after you." She smirked, tilting her head to the side as she looked down at you.

Though you pursed your lips and focused on how Lady Garbage's tail curled around your wrist, you couldn't stop your fave from reddening. "Even after I scratched him up?" Your voice felt tiny as you curled yourself into the smallest fetal position you could manage into her warm muscular side.

"Lady G has done a lot worse on him." Lady G looked up from his mutilation on Yaki's scarred hand to meow in agreement. You eyed him wearily. It was freaky on how pets acted so human at times. It didn't help that Raphael's mask comically tied around his neck in a ghetto bow. "He _really_ doesn't like Leo." Yaki laughed, fondly going over memories of years past.

You hummed in acknowledgment of her statement, reaching out a hand to touch the cat's fluffy behind. He let out a sharp yowl as he snapped his head back to bite you. Yaki reached over and booped his nose before he could inflict any damage. Lady G scrunched up his face in confusion, pawing at his pink nose with a hesitant 'meow?' "Looks like we have another thing in common." You huffed, rubbing your hand tentatively though no damage had come to you.

The two of you sat in silence as Lady G sloppily began to lick his paw pad, drenching a spot on Yaki's baggy brown cargo pants. The sound of the evening traffic easily came through the walls, and the faucet that had been hastily turned off dripped noisily. You reached out slowly and intertwined your fingers with hers. Her fingers were long and yet delicate, engulfing your hand in hers. She rested her head against yours. "... Well are you gonna tell me, or should I start guessing?"

You scoffed, squeezing your eyes shut as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You eyed the open door, feeling your throat tighten. You didn't want anyone to hear what you told her, especially if they had already laughed at Jared. If they laughed at you, now that would _really_ send you off the deep end. And that, was a promise. "You're never going to be able to guess it, Yaki." You came off more bitter then you meant, but you weren't going to lose any sleep over it.

"Is that a challenge?" She crooned, waggling her bushy eyebrows as she tapped the tip of your nose. You scrunched it, as a small smile fought its way into your face. You didn't want it to win though, you were feeling quite content being bitter and petty. You had been kind and sweet and _naive_ for the past eighteen years, it was time for a change.

Though you both knew that the back and forth banter was utterly meaninglessly, it ultimately eased your anxieties. At least, for the moment. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone. You squished your face against her muscular shoulder, a grumble escaping you. The grumble felt childish, especially since you were curled up against the person that you owed so much. After all she had done for you. And yet, you didn't trust her. At least, not completely.

"Can..." You exhaled loudly, feeling your hot breath ricochet off of her tight black shirt and smack against your face. Not a _pleasant_ smell when you had just gone through a session of dry heaving. "Can we talk about this when we get home?" After a few long seconds of silence with Yaki staring at you like she knew something, you poked her in the ribs. You felt her immediately tense up, her torso becoming hard as rock. "Please?"

"Uh... yeah. 'Course." Yaki cleared her throat, her overgrown eyebrows furrowed as she adjusted herself against the cold tile and the cinder blocks that stabbed her in the back. Her demeanor had changed once more, but it seemed... Different. Unsure. Now _that_ was new. "But, um... Everything is fine though..." She tilted her head to the side, her floppy curling quiff comically dangling over the side of her head. She arched an eyebrow, annoying you of her skill. "... Right?"

"Fine?" You scoffed, tapping your finger at the trickle of blood that your jawline. You glanced down at the smear, rubbing the liquid between your index finger and thumb. You wrapped your arms around your brawny friend as best as you could, nuzzling your face against her neck with a small sigh. She smelled of a lavender cleaning product and a cologne that smelled an awful like the one Raphael practically doused himself in. You burst into a fit of coughing, feeling the sharp intakes of breath scratching at your raw throat. Once it passed, you glanced up at her. "I don't think so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Things are going to start ramping up ;)


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